Gravity
by forthecoast
Summary: What goes up must come down. [MS]
1. Prologue

Title: Gravity  
Author: inelastic (spyglass)  
Rating: T until/unless otherwise specified  
Disclaimer: I'm going to need bigger pockets  
Pairings: MS, traces of DE, JS, & others. But this fic is inherently MS in design.  
Category: MS, Martin angst, Sam angst, Spade family drama, addiction storyline, cast interaction, an occasional casefile.  
Spoilers: 5x18 and 5x19. This diverges somewhere towards the very end of 5x19.  
Summary: What goes up must come down.

Notes: I don't trust the WAT PTB to do the upcoming storyline justice, so I'm taking matters into my own hand.

xxx

_**prologue**_

xxx

_oh, gravity is working against me  
and gravity wants to bring me down_

_oh, twice as much ain't twice as good  
and can't sustain like a one half could  
it's wanting more that's gonna send me to my knees_  
-John Mayer, "Gravity"

xxx

The evening crowd began to file in at White Roses, and Martin felt out of place in his business slacks and jacket. They had arrived just after 7:00, when the bar was relatively empty. It was still winter enough that the early evening hour appeared later than 10:00 in August. By now, though, the lights in the bar had dimmed and the floor was crowded with young adults dressed for a night on the town.

He slumped back against the wooden back of his seat, pretending to pay attention as Danny vented his frustrations about Elena.

"... and she tells me she needs just a little more time, man, but I just don't know what's going on with her. I wish she'd let me in."

He nodded in assent, his eyes focused on his gin and tonic as though it was the most fascinating thing in the entire room. This was not a bar they usually frequented, but it was close enough to the office and served their purpose at the time: Danny needed a place to go where he could sit and talk uninterrupted, and he -- he just needed somewhere to go to forget.

"It's just ... difficult, you know?" Danny said finally.

Martin shifted his gaze away from their booth in the secluded back corner and towards the countertop where the bartender was serving a couple that had just arrived. She was blonde, petite, and appeared to be quite a few years younger than her companion. He shook his head and turned back to his drink, sipping long and hard as he considered Danny's words.

_It was relatively dark at the office when he and Vivian returned to reunite Becca and her grandfather, but just from the appearance of their desks, he could tell that everyone but Elena was still around somewhere. Danny's jacket was casually thrown over the back of his chair, desk in a complete state of disarray; he had been somewhat distant and distracted since Sofie's kidnapping and subsequent return. The light in Jack's office was still on, and Jack's voice carried softly out of the room. It sounded vaguely as though he was talking to one of his daughters. Sam's computer was still on and two empty mugs sat on her desk - a sure sign that she was still somewhere in the building._

_Martin waved to Vivian as she grabbed her coat and said something about getting home in time to make sure Reggie was studying for his big Trig test the next day. He slouched forward as he sat at his desk, resting his forehead against one hand while using the other to check his office voice mail._

_As usual, though, there was nothing of significance. Not even case-related._

_"Hey, man," Danny leaned over the back of his desk. "You busy tonight?"_

_Martin sighed and placed his phone carefully back in the receiver. He shook his head._

_"If you're up for it, I was going to grab something to eat on the way home..."_

_Martin looked up to study his friend's face. Danny seemed to need someone to talk to and he didn't want to refuse, but at the same time, he really just wanted to go home and catch the end of whatever basketball game was playing. Whatever was on Danny's mind must really be weighing on him, though. Finally, he nodded. "Sure, just give me a few minutes to clear some of this up."_

_If Danny noticed that Martin's desk was actually completely devoid of clutter or paperwork, he didn't say anything. And Martin was grateful that would have a few minutes to collect his thoughts._

_Danny walked away, his shoulders heavy with stress, and Martin noticed that Samantha had returned to her desk. If he angled himself just right, he could see her reflection in the dark black window of his empty computer screen. She held another mug of coffee in her hand, and he recognized the way her fingers were clutching the cup._

_It may have been almost two years since things had come to a crashing halt between them, but he still knew what that look meant. She was on edge about something._

_He silently wondered when the entire office began walking around with the weight of the world on their shoulders._

_He shuffled nonexistent papers around his desk when he noticed Jack's reflection block out Sam's form as he came up behind her._

_He found himself torn between wanting to know what they were talking about and feeling like knowing would only tear him apart once again. Still, though, he was an FBI agent and his natural curiosity was hard to fight. He silently cursed his well-trained ears for picking up on the quiet conversation in the dark office._

_"Sam -" Jack moved to lean against the side of his desk. "Your sister Emily came by earlier looking for you."_

_Her hands moved back to massage her neck, and she sighed. Her hushed tone sounded accusatory. "What did she want?"_

_"Hey," Jack placed one of his own hands on her shoulder. "Don't shoot the messenger. She said you two were supposed to have lunch."_

_Martin felt his heart wedge in his chest. He didn't know Sam and Emily were suddenly in contact, and he certainly had no idea what about this was making Sam appear so tense._

_For a second, he thought he was seeing green. She always seemed to let Jack in, in a way that she had never wanted to when she was with him. He didn't want to be jealous, he really didn't. It was one of the things he was working hardest with his sponsor about. But that didn't stop him from feeling the churning sensation deep in the pit of his stomach when he watched Sam and Jack together through the reflection of his monitor._

_Seeing them together awakened the doubts that lived in the dark corners of his brain. The thought that they had never really been about 'them' at all; that the only reason he had ever had a chance was because Jack was going to Chicago to be with Maria. That he had only been a poor substitute, and he had never really had a 'chance' after all._

_He didn't know what hurt him worse: the fact that she didn't appear to have ever wanted him, or the fact that she still did appear to want Jack._

_His heart heavy and his head filled with uncertainty and suspicion, he rose from his desk and trod off, defeated, in search of Danny._

_He needed to tell him that if they were going to grab dinner, drinks were somehow going to have to be involved as well..._

Swallowing, Martin raised his head and cast his eyes sorrowfully at Danny. "Yeah," he said. "It's difficult."

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat back in his seat, thinking his friend had no idea just how difficult it actually was.

xxx


	2. One

xxx

_**chapter one**_

xxx

_she turns up the light  
anticipating night falling tenderly around her  
watches the dusk  
the words won't come  
she carries the act so convincingly  
the fact is sometimes she believes it  
she can be happy with the way things are  
be happy with the things she's done_  
-Vienna Teng, The Tower

xxx

Samantha crossed her arms and tapped her fingers nervously against her rib cage as the plane began its descent upon the runway at La Guardia. She had barely uttered a word since she and Jack boarded the plane to return to New York; she had been far too preoccupied with trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing.

A voice overhead warned them to remain in their seats until the plane came to a complete stop on the runway, and she tugged at the metal clasp of her seatbelt. In the stuffy cabin air, she felt like she was suffocating.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

The cabin shook as the wheels of the plane touched down on the ground with a loud 'thud', announcing their arrival back in New York. Jack must have mistaken her involuntary head movement as an answer because he looked surprised when she finally found enough voice to answer him.

"I have no idea what I'm doing." Her voice cracked, "I just know that it's... it's time."

The plane slowed to a halt as it pulled even with its gate. She slowly rose from her seat and reached up to retrieve her small carry on bag from the overhead compartment, clutching it to her side as she stood idly by. They waited their turn before joining the steady stream of passengers moving deliberately towards the door, exiting the plane and proceeding on to baggage claim.

She felt Jack's eyes on her as they stood waiting, but she couldn't force herself to turn and meet his gaze. Instead, she shifted her eyes among the crowd, watching as mothers fawned over their children, husbands embraced their wives, old friends reunited joyfully, and businessmen shook hands. Her neck burned at Jack's stare, and she was surprised that the sensation was nothing more than pins and needles. But then, she supposed, her emotions had run the gamut in the past two days and there was nothing left for her to feel but numb. Numb, and unusually alone.

In front of them the conveyer belt began its familiar hum and whir, and their eyes scanned the checked luggage as it passed by. She leaned forward when her suitcase came into view, grasping the handle and hauling it off to the side. She tapped her foot quietly as she waited while Jack did the same with his own suitcase.

"You know I'm going to have to take your gun." Jack tugged the handle of his suitcase upwards and it clicked as it reached the locked position.

She nodded tersely. "I know."

He walked a few steps behind her as they made their way through the crowds in the terminal and out onto the sidewalk. Sam winced as her eyes adjusted to the late evening sunlight, feeling herself glare up at the offending sky that seemed far too colorful and vibrant for a day like today.

"What did you tell the rest of the team?" She inquired, locating the line of travelers waiting for the next available cabs and leading him toward it.

Jack leaned against a concrete pole that was supporting the overhang. "I didn't. All they know is that we found Emily, that she's going to be fine, and that you had to shoot Jeff Henry to prevent any further harm." He paused and his eyebrows arched into an expression that she couldn't read. "It's your call; you said you didn't want this to become a three ring circus."

She sighed and turned away, remembering what her mother used to say about disaster under the big top. "Yeah, well, I think it's time to bring in the clowns." She laughed bitterly, and they moved to the front of the line.

"You heading home?" he asked.

She looked him in the eye as he squeezed her shoulder and motioned for her to take the first cab that pulled up to the curb. "I guess I am. You?"

"I guess." He shrugged and stepped forward to open the door for her. "Sam?"

"Yes?"

Jack leaned in to run his hand along her cheek. "It's going to be okay."

When the door of the cab was shut firmly behind her, she felt a shiver run down her spine at the realization that it was the first time that she did not believe something Jack Malone said.

Her heart lurched, remembering a time when she thought she could believe everything that her sister said; knowing that the first lie always stung the most, but the subsequent ones do not get much easier.

_"We can't do that, Em." Sam warned as she sat on her mother's sofa with her sister, trying to explain what was going to happen next._

_"Why not?"_

_"Because I already told Jack."_

_"Why would you do that?"_

_"Because it's time. It's time to stop running, it's time to stop pretending that it didn't happen. Because it did, all of it, and I'm..." her voice caught, and she pursed her lips together. "I'm tired, Em. I'm just so... tired."_

_"Sam..." Emily scooted closer to her, reaching out to clasp their hands together. Her voice came out as a whisper: shaky, uncertain, and full of emotion. "I never asked you to do any of this... I would have been okay."_

_Sam closed the remainder of the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Emily's neck as the tears began to flow. "None of this was 'okay.' No matter what happens, I would do it all again in a heartbeat. I couldn't let him keep doing that to you."_

_They sat in the dark, the only sound to break the eerie silence was their sniffling as they cried together._

_"I just wish..." Sam's voice was just above a whisper "I wish that you'd told me. I could have helped you!"_

_Emily tensed and pulled away from their embrace. "You have to understand, Sam. I never told anyone. Andrew... Oh God, I always told Andrew I needed a little more time before we talked about starting a family. I never told him..."_

_"You should tell him," Sam bit her bottom lip nervously, feeling guilty about the way she had attacked her brother-in-law during the interrogation. "He seems like a good guy; he'll understand."_

_"Andrew is a great guy. I always told myself I would tell him one day when the time was right, but there was never a 'right' time. How do you drop something like this on someone you've been married to for ten years?" A slight hint of desperation and regret tinged her sister's voice._

_"I don't know," Sam answered honestly. "I'm not exactly the person to be going to for relationship advice." She half sighed, half mumbled her own distaste as she repeated Jack's words from earlier that day. "I'm told that I 'consistently make the worst choices' in the personal arena."_

_Emily's forehead creased inquisitively. "Who said that? Someone you work with?"_

_"Jack did." She pinched the bridge of her nose, not really wanting to elaborate on a relationship that she couldn't articulate without making it sound sordid and seedy. She sighed, changing the subject. "Look at us. If someone had told me eighteen years ago that you'd be the one happily married for ten years, I would have laughed in their faces."_

_Emily's lips formed a half smile at this. "What about you? Any guy would be lucky to have you, Sam."_

_She released a quick, pulsed breath that almost hid her disdain at Emily's false words. Her eyes darted to the side, the memory of what's-his-name from that morning weighing heavily on her conscience. "Work doesn't give me a lot of free time."_

_She heard the padding of feet from the bedroom as a door creaked open and her mother's voice called out. "Girls? You're still up? Is everything okay out there?"_

_Emily rolled her eyes and fiddled with the wedding band that sat on her left ring finger. "We're fine, Mom. We're just fine."_

_Sam ran one of her free hands through her hair, wishing she could believe a word her sister had just said._

xxx

She felt an ache in her chest as she watched dusk fall upon the familiar New York City streets from the back seat of the cab. All around her, lives were unfolding. When she first moved, it had been one of the things that had attracted her most to the busy city life.

Her thoughts drifted to the rest of the team and how she would tell them, what she would tell them. She hadn't wanted them to get involved because her survival instinct warned that, if they did, her secret would be revealed. All along, though, she should have known; her desire to keep her secrets always ended up working against her one way or another. And she was fooling herself to think that they wouldn't find out; past experience ought to have warned her: the truth always comes out. This time, at least, she hoped her colleagues would understand her reasons for holding back.

She bit her tongue, swallowing hard as she recalled a late night cab ride that signaled the beginning of the one of her other 'secrets.' She wondered where Martin fit in the consistent stream of poor personal choices that Jack had alluded to the previous morning, feeling a familiar twinge in the pit of her stomach. She exhaled slowly, reminding herself that her former relationship with Martin hadn't exactly been as 'secret' as she had intended; the bitter twist of fate that just as the entire team found out, there was suddenly nothing left for them to know.

She marveled at how, two years later, she still didn't quite know how to act around Martin. She constantly felt him near her: close, but further from her reach than ever. She tried following his lead, but their interactions seemed to follow a roller coaster track: one day he would joke with her about secret office romances, the next she felt him unable to even look in her direction. The worst part was both seemed like a slap in the face, and she couldn't even discern which left her feeling more bitter and empty.

She slumped back against the cloth seat, the dull pain of defeat coursing through her body. Her head throbbed as she focused her energy on willing the cab to weave faster in and out of traffic.

When the cab finally came to a stop in front of her building, she pulled several bills from her wallet and thrust them at the driver, grabbing her luggage and stepping determinedly through the front door. Once alone in the safe confines of the elevator, she let her shoulders sag and rolled her head backwards before pressing the button that read '5'.

Making her way down the hall to her apartment, her eyes scanned the familiar space with regret; a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at the impending changes of her life. Strange how a man who had been dead for seventeen years could still impact every aspect of her being.

She heard the familiar click as the key turned to release the lock and her apartment door opened. The air inside was thick and heavy, the early evening darkness cast haunting shadows that danced across the room, and she braced herself against the unknown.

It seemed a cruel irony that Emily was the one who had straightened her life out and begun to move past it while she herself remained locked in the same destructive holding pattern; a vicious cycle with no end in sight.

xxx


	3. Two

xxx

_**chapter two**_

xxx

_they say every man goes blind in his heart  
they say everybody steals somebody's heart away  
and i got nothing more to say about it  
nothing more than you would me_  
-Mazzy Star, "Flowers In December"

xxx

"So what you're saying is that your entire team is under a lot of stress right now?" Lisa Harris' calculated words echoed in her office.

Martin sighed, leaning back against the sofa where he sat. "Yeah, you could say that."

"It's not about what I say," Lisa replied, prompting with a slight tone of condescension that only therapists seem to get away with. "Where do you fit in all of this? There must be some reason why you're back to see me all of a sudden."

"My sponsor suggested that I come in," he admitted passively. "I'm coming up on the one year mark, and he thought it would be a good idea."

"Well, you're here."

His shoulders sagged. "I guess I am."

"And there's nothing big that's bothering you?" Lisa probed further, raising an eyebrow in quiet disbelief.

"Not really." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, suddenly feeling suffocated by his shirt collar.

"I see," she said. "You mentioned that you have been overloaded with cases and haven't had a lot of down time recently." Martin gave a small nod of assent. "One of those cases was Samantha's sister, right?"

"Yeah, it was." His hands inadvertently went to adjust his tie. "Jack and Sam found her late yesterday afternoon in Kenosha. Jack said she's going to be fine."

"That's good news, then," Lisa led. "But how are you feeling about it?"

Martin sighed; he had hoped to avoid this question. He braced himself, but spoke somewhat absent-mindedly. "I feel fine. We found Emily; we did our job."

"Martin, it's perfectly normal to feel a little bit weird about a case that hits so close to your own team," Lisa said soothingly. "Especially given your history with Samantha."

He swallowed hard, considering how he wanted to reply. He rarely spoke of his relationship with Samantha when he was in sessions with Lisa; it somehow didn't feel right, knowing that Sam also talked to Lisa on occasion - although rarely of her own free will. As a matter of fact, he rarely spoke of their relationship with anyone except his sponsor. It was simply easier that way, to keep their relationship as private as she had wished; it reduced the amount of awkward moments in the break room and with other more casual office acquaintances and co-workers.

He was approaching one year sober, though, and Danny was beginning to bother him about getting back out on the dating scene. He supposed he would cross that bridge when he came to it, but it wasn't a thought he relished. His sponsor warned against using his addiction as a crutch in regards to romance, advising that he should neither use it as an excuse for nor an excuse against.

"It didn't feel right," he finally admitted, crossing his arms protectively across his chest. "It felt like we were prying into Sam's life, and I know Sam didn't want that. She didn't call us for a reason."

"You don't think she'll appreciate it in the end?"

Martin shrugged his shoulders, his arms still crossed. "We'll see when she comes in tomorrow morning, I guess."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Lisa assured him calmly. "You said it yourself: you were just doing your job. Samantha knows that as much as anyone else."

"Vivian said as much," Martin released a quiet laugh. "She said if she ever got tasered, that we should pry into anything we could."

Lisa nodded. "What would you have done if you were in Samantha's shoes?"

His heart skipped a beat, then began to race furiously.

It had been nearly three years since Aunt Bonnie's death, and the sharp pain her memory conjured had only just diffused into a dull ache.

He bit his tongue. He understood the desire for privacy, maybe a little more than he would care to admit.

_Martin's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that they were beginning to go white. He pushed his foot down on the gas pedal the second the light changed from red to green, and his car accelerated forward with a jolt. He nearly hit the car that tried to eek through the light on the street that ran perpendicular, and he struck the palm of his hand forcefully against his horn. It felt somewhat cathartic._

_His cousin Jamie had called him in a panic about twenty minutes ago, and he had barely even remembered to call his rock climbing buddy, Rick, to cancel. All he could think about was getting to his aunt and uncle's house and doing anything he could to figure out where Aunt Bonnie was._

_He tried desperately to rationalize as he weaved in and out of the early afternoon traffic. Aunt Bonnie was always busy and full of life; everyone adored her. It would come as no surprise to him if she had simply stopped off at the store and run into an old neighbor, and had simply become distracted in her excitement to catch up with a friend._

_But try as he might, his intuition warned him that it might not be that simple._

_As he approached New York City limits and neared the suburbs where the Tolands resided, he contemplated calling the team and asking for help. He knew they would be happy to assist in any way they could. But something was holding him back. If something had gone terribly awry, he wasn't sure he wanted the team knowing in an official capacity. His profile in the Bureau drew enough attention just from his father's name alone; he did not want the rest of his family to be dragged through the Bureau gossip mill. Not on something like this._

_In an unofficial investigation, however, it would be helpful to have one of his colleagues around to bounce ideas off of, or to offer input. And Martin knew that if he asked, any of his co-workers would be there. He wouldn't call Jack, though. Jack was his boss, and he did not want to run the risk of this becoming more official if Jack decided it need be. Vivian had her own son to consider, and she rarely got to spend time with Reggie as it was. Danny had become a good friend after they had started off on the wrong foot, but he wasn't necessarily the confidant he would choose given Danny's tendency to run his mouth._

_It all came down to one person, then: Samantha. He nodded to himself, absent-mindedly wondering why the idea didn't occur to him sooner. He didn't want to bother her on her weekend off, but his fingers had pressed the speed dial to her cell phone before he could stop himself._

_He held his breath as her cell phone rang four times before she picked up._

_"Hello?" She answered._

_He fought a small smile. This was not her usual, no-nonsense Special Agent voice. This was Sam on her weekend off._

_"Hey, Sam. It's... it's Martin."_

_"Oh. Hey, Martin," she greeted cheerily. "How are you?"_

_"I'm, uh-- Listen, I wanted to ask a favor." He willed his voice to sound more confident than he felt under the circumstances._

_"Sure. What's up?"_

_"I--" He paused. She hadn't mentioned any big plans for the weekend, just laundry. But still, he didn't want to interrupt if she had something else important to do. "You're not busy this afternoon. Are you?"_

_"No, not really," Sam said. "I managed to get all of my laundry in before my crazy neighbors monopolized the machines, so my afternoon is pretty open." She paused and laughed. "I have to tell you, though, rock climbing isn't really my thing."_

_  
He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and felt his face flush. They had only mentioned their weekend plans in passing, but she had remembered._

_"I, uh-- It's not that," he stammered, suddenly nervous._

_Her voice suddenly sounded concerned. "Is everything alright, Martin?"_

_"I'm not sure." A chill ran down his spine. "I just got a call from my cousin Jamie. She said my aunt Bonnie left the house to visit a friend who lives a few blocks away at a little bit before 11:00 this morning. No one has heard from her since, and the Saltzmans said she never showed up... My aunt, she's being treated for breast cancer, and Uncle Roger and my cousins are panicking."_

_"Oh, wow." Sam breathed softly. He could barely hear her voice on the line. "Martin, I'm so sorry. What do you know?"_

_"Honestly," he replied, his voice matching the soft, subdued tone in hers, "not much. I'm on my way to the house right now to see what I can find out."_

_"What can I do to help?" She said finally; her tone rising, but concern still evident in her voice._

_His left foot bounced nervously against the seat as his focus shifted briefly to the car accident up ahead on the side of the road._

_"Martin?" Her voice grew more insistent. "Martin, are you there?"_

_"Yeah, sorry." He sighed. "I just--"_

_"What's the address?" She asked._

_"140 Clairmont Lane," he said. "Sam, you don't have to. I mean, if you have other plans--"_

_"You shouldn't do this alone, Martin. I'll be there as soon as I can," she replied in kind. "Do you want me to call the rest of the team?"_

_"It's probably nothing," he said quickly. "I don't want to bother them."_

_"Sure," she agreed. "Whatever you think is best."_

_His signal grew fuzzy as he drove through an area of highway where he almost never got reception. "Sam, I'm about to lose you, so I better go."_

_"Okay. I'm on my way out the door."_

_"I'll, uh, I'll see you when you get there," he said slowly. "I should get reception back in a couple of minutes if you need any help on the directions."_

_"Great," she replied. "Thanks. I'll see you soon."_

_They said quick goodbyes as his signal became almost nonexistent, cutting out just as he pressed the "end call" button. He flipped his phone shut and set it down in one of the cup holders to his right._

_He ran his now-free hand along his face, massaging his temple. But he felt slightly better knowing that Sam was on her way._

"Martin?" Lisa Harris' voice jarred him from his thoughts.

His posture sagged in defeat. "Sorry."

"What would you have done in a similar situation?" She asked again, her clinical tone of voice becoming more insistent.

He rotated his neck, working out the kinks. His reply came out calmly, his voice never wavering. "I probably would have done the exact same thing."

xxx

To those of you who asked: I am not promising outcomes, but this is, like I said in the intro, inherently MS in design. :)


	4. Three

xxx

_**chapter three**_

xxx

_she is trapped inside a month of gray __  
__and they take a little every day __  
__she is a victim of her own responses __  
__shackled to a heart that wants to settle __  
__and then runs away_  
-Counting Crows, "Mercury"

xxx

Sam adjusted the sleeves of her button-down shirt as she rode the elevator to the twelfth floor of the Federal Building. The crook of her elbow still stung slightly from where the lab tech had drawn her blood that morning, and she ran her left index finger over the spot where her pale skin had been punctured, as though it would somehow help her marrow match her nephew's.

Though Emily had told her not to worry about it, Sam still felt guilty that she had not at least listened to what her sister had to say when she first reached out. Emily was ready to come clean about the past to do what was right by Randy, and Sam had almost literally slammed the door in her sister's face.

If she had just listened, she might already know if her tissue type was a match.

The elevator doors opened to reveal the busy hallway of the Missing Persons floor, well over an hour into the bustle of the work day. She held her head high as she walked, moving purposefully as she hung her trench coat and shuffled the files that lay on her desk. She had only twenty minutes before her use of force meeting, and she was disappointed to find that Elena was the only one in the office.

She always wanted to say something to Elena, to warn her. She had watched from a distance as Danny and Elena built up to _something_, felt her own pangs of regret every time she saw Elena pull further away from Danny. But, like always, she held her tongue. To warn Elena would be to admit that she had been wrong in the way she had handled her relationship with Martin, and she could not allow herself that admission.

"Good morning, Elena." She greeted, collecting her regrets and pushing them away once more.

"Hey, Sam," Elena smiled brightly back at her. "I hear your sister is doing better."

She gave a small nod in response. "Yeah, she is. She's staying a few more days in Kenosha, but she'll be back home soon."

"That's great," Elena turned her head back down to the files she was looking through. "We were all really worried."

Sam, however, could not help but wonder how 'great' her coworkers would think it was when they learned the truth. "Are we still working the Burris case?" She asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah," Elena motioned to the papers spread out on the conference table. "I had no idea teenagers could get into so much trouble! I thought I was bad enough when I was a kid."

Sam simply shrugged. She rarely thought of Elena as 'green' anymore, but nothing about this case shocked Sam. She brushed her own feelings to one side like she had done so many times in the past, wondering if maybe this time would be the last. "So, how old will Sofie be when you finally let her out of the house?" she teased.

"Twenty-five!" Elena laughed. "Anyway, Vivian went back to the high school to interview the boyfriend's ex, who we think had a grudge, and Martin is at the house with the family. He really seems to have connected with the younger brother, and he was hoping to see if he could get him to open up. He knows something that he's not telling us."

She took in the developments in the case they had been working on when her sister had gone missing, and she turned to finger several of the files laid out before her. Sam had just begun to read through the arrest report on one of their missing person's best friends when she noticed Elena's eyes focused on her, studying her intently.

She tilted her head, looking curiously back at her co-worker.

"Sorry," Elena said apologetically. "It's just, I never knew that you and Martin had been, uh..."

Sam instantly felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She always assumed that Elena knew -- through one branch of the Bureau grapevine or another -- only to find out that her fellow agents had more respect for her personal life than she did herself.

Too shaken to allow herself to speak, she was almost grateful when Elena continued. "I guess I never really saw it before, but you two would have been a good match. It's too bad things didn't work out..."

Elena spoke with such a casual ease that it felt like a knife twisting in her gut, and she once again fought the urge to impart advice to her friend.

"Yeah," Sam swallowed, agreeing in an even voice. "It's too bad." And even as the words left her mouth, she felt still guiltier about their break up than she had the day that Danny had found out.

_It had been over a week since Martin had broken up with her, and Sam was still fighting the inevitability of settling back into her routine of being single._

_When she woke up alone that morning, it took several seconds before she realized that the bed beside her was cold -- not because Martin had been up early to run and would be bustling around her kitchen making coffee and watching Sports Center, but because Martin had not been over at all._

_She shook the vestiges of sleep quickly, however, chiding herself in her carelessness of allowing such thoughts. She rose from her bed, willing herself to ignore the unnamed ghost who slept beside her at night, and busied herself in putting coffee on and getting ready for work._

_She ran into the elderly woman who lived two doors down while she was waiting for the elevator, choosing her words carefully when asked where "that nice young man" was and hating that Martin got on better with her neighbors than she did._

_When she arrived at the office, she found Jack and Vivian trading middle school horror stories and chatting casually about their children while Danny sat comfortably at his desk, hiding a game of Spider Solitaire behind his Bureau email._

_"Morning, Danny," she waved, sounding far more cheerful than she felt._

_Danny minimized his Spider Solitaire window, whirling around in his office chair. "Oh, hey Sam! Listen, I've been meaning to ask you something."_

_"Sure. What's up?" She said, coming to lean against the side of the conference table._

_"A friend of mine bought tickets for his whole family to go see the Yankees and Mets play at Shea during Interleague Play in June, but his wife just got invited to speak at this conference thing that's apparently a really big deal. He has six tickets, and he offered to give them to me. So I was thinking that we could make a thing of it: you know, an early dinner and the game. Viv and Marcus, you and Martin, me and..."_

_"Danny!" Her voice was quiet but forceful._

_"What?" He answered at full volume, and she felt her face flush, embarrassed. Martin obviously hadn't told him._

_"I don't think --" she began to stutter, unsure of what to say._

_"Oh!" Danny's eyes lit up excitedly. "Is that the weekend of his cousin's wedding? I'm glad you decided to take the time off and go with him!"_

_"It's not that," she lowered her eyes to look down at her shoes. "We broke up."_

_It was the first time she had said the words out loud, and they stung as they left her mouth._

_They hung in the air, cutting bitter and deep._

_She walked away before Danny had a chance to say anything further, and she left him looking as stunned and disappointed as she felt._

xxx

Forty minutes later, Sam signed the incident report in the use of force meeting with steady hands although she was sure the other agents could hear her heart racing. For the second time in an hour, she was rendered barely able to breathe.

Jack rose from the table first, with Agents Olzcyk and Newman following close behind. Sam was unaware of how she herself rose to follow, and only vaguely heard her own reply as Agent Newman told her that the administrative angle would be cleared up before the end of the business day.

"Sorry to blindside you like that," Jack said, although his tone was neither completely apologetic nor completely professional.

"You made it impossible for me to tell the truth without getting you in trouble." She led, turning her head and wondering what he thought he was doing.

"I know." And it seemed that was all Jack wanted to say on the matter, as he changed the subject the second the elevator doors opened in front of them. "Did you get the bone marrow test?"

She sighed. "This morning. They'll let me know sometime next week." She squared her shoulders and turned her eyes up toward his. "I was going to tell the truth. I'm kind of tired of being stuck in this."

"But you're not stuck anymore. You did tell the truth, to me."

As she looked back down at the elevator floor, her eyes wandering, she wanted to know if that was supposed to comfort her. "What do I do? I just forget about it?" She asked.

"No," he replied with words too quick to be calculated, but too cliché to be sincere. "You learn how to forgive yourself, so if you screw up it's for something you do now, not for something that happened decades ago that you had no control over."

Not for the first time in the past several days, she fought the urge to slap him; she had always despised when he lectured her. Instead, she raised her eyebrow, replying with an even skepticism. "Is that supposed to be wise?"

"No, not really," he said with a smile that she could see right through, sighing as they exited the elevator. "I'm just not really to see you leave yet."

She stopped, turning her body to face him. "I'm tired, Jack," she admitted. And she was, tired of carrying the burden of her secret, tired of constantly looking over her shoulder, tired of lying to herself and to the people around her.

But he apparently could not see that, and she was tired of giving him too much credit.

"I know you are, honey," he sounded more like her father than her ex-lover, and her stomach churned. "Why don't you take a couple days off?"

"I will," she said absent-mindedly, shrugging it off as they went opposite directions down the hallway. For the first time it felt like she was leaving _him_ behind, instead of the other way around.

She re-entered the bullpen feeling determined, when she saw Martin's head bent over a background check, bagel in one hand and coffee in the other. She had never before fully appreciated that some things never change.

"Did Lenny give you anything more?" She came up behind him, asking him about his meeting with the younger brother.

"Sam!" He exclaimed, his voice muffled as he chewed. He rotated the chair so that he was facing her, and looked for a second like he might rise to hug her.

She was almost disappointed when he did not. His smile, however, seemed to be the first genuine one she had seen all day, so she welcomed that readily instead.

"I'm really glad that things turned out okay with your sister," he said, once he had finished swallowing.

Her breath caught in her throat, and all she could do was nod.

"Hey!" She said with surprise as an image popped up on Martin's computer screen; the scarred, sullen face of Allan Tylman, known associate of the same Edward Freeman that Martin had been searching for, stared back at them. Sam quickly stepped over to the white board that held several sketches of potential suspects, retrieving a sketch and holding it next to the computer. "What do you think?"

She felt Martin's eyes scan back and forth between the sketch and the computer-generated picture, knowing that he was mentally adding a beard to the on-screen image as she had done before. "I think we have a viable suspect," he said finally, grinning at her. "What do you say we pay Mr. Tylman a house call?"

"I think that sounds like a brilliant plan," she said, returning his smile easily.

It was only as she heard the remote control to Martin's car click and echo through the quiet of the parking garage did she remember that Jack had told her to take a few days off.

Their missing sixteen-year-old girl was more important. Her time off could wait.

She opened the door on the passenger side, lowering herself into the seat, and she shared an easy laugh with Martin as he brought her up-to-date on the details of the case. Today seemed to be one of the rare occasions when she and Martin could speak easily around each other, almost as though there was no history between them.

Elena's words from earlier that morning echoed in her ears, and she swallowed hard, feeling the guilt settle in the pit of her stomach.

"Hey," Martin breathed, concern etched across his forehead even as he drove. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," her voice came in a soft whisper.

She squared her shoulders determinedly, bracing herself as the car pulled out into the late morning sunlight, and once again willed her heart not to break.

xxx


	5. Four

xxx

_**chapter four**_

xxx

_i knew you wanted to tell me  
in your voice there was something wrong  
but if you would turn your face away from me  
you cannot tell me you're so strong_

_  
just let me ask of you one small thing  
as we have shared so many tears  
with fervor our dreams we planned a whole life long  
now are scattered on the wind_  
-Sarah McLachlan, "Path of Thorns (Terms)"

xxx

Martin felt a dull ache settle across his chest as he began to weave in and out of city traffic. Though his eyes did not shift their focus from the road in front of him, he could sense Sam's quiet, nervous energy from the passenger's seat.

Something had happened in Kenosha, something that she and Jack were keeping secret. Their stories had been far too vague and nondescript; if nothing had happened, they would be far more forthcoming. It was no longer any of his business -- not anymore, but he still hoped Sam knew she could come to him as a friend. Their friendship on the whole had been virtually nonexistent since they had broken up, give or take a few isolated instances, but he genuinely did miss it. It was the main reason he had broken up with her in the first place; their relationship became warped and problematic once they allowed sex to complicate things.

But two years had passed, and his sponsor was urging him to rebuild and repair that friendship. That was the trouble of having an ex-cop as your sponsor; Ed was always stressing the importance of mending relationships with his teammates, given the way that cops and agents were constantly putting their lives at risk every time they go out in the field. Once Ed learned of his history with Sam, he seemed particularly intent on Martin repairing the friendship. And although it had taken him time to be prepared to do so, Martin hoped that he was ready. Most people probably would not be able to tell, but he knew her better than that. Sam looked like she could use a friend.

"Hey --" Sam interrupted his train of thought, her tone of voice urgent. "Aren't we supposed to turn right up here?" She motioned with one hand at the two lanes of traffic that he would have to cross. Damn it.

He gave a small laugh and turned on his blinker, craning his neck to check his blind spot as he started to change lanes. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that."

"If you're not interested in the road, I can drive..." she teased.

"I don't think so," he smiled, shaking his head. "It would probably be in Natalie Burris' best interests if we show up for this interview in one piece."

"Speaking of Natalie Burris," Sam continued. "Care to fill me in on anything that I missed?"

"Oh, sure. Of course!" In his anxiousness to leave the second they had caught a break in the case, he had forgotten that she had missed quite a few developments while she had been on her way back from Wisconsin. It looked as though they had almost arrived at Tylman's apartment building, and he really did need to bring her up to speed. "The biggest break we had was what her brother told me this morning. According to Lenny, the reason that Natalie broke up with Chris was that she had a new boyfriend."

"A new boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Natalie didn't say anything about it, but Lenny said he knew by the way she would get dressed up before she went out," Martin explained.

"Younger siblings always do know more than they let on," Sam quipped.

As he was focused on avoiding another near-miss with the directions, he could not get a good enough read on her expression to discern the layered meaning of Sam's comment, but he had a feeling it had to do more with Emily and less with Natalie and Lenny Burris. "We never get enough credit, but we always do," Martin retorted. "Lenny heard Natalie talking to the new boyfriend on the phone after school on Thursday, when she should have been at her SAT prep class. I matched that to the number on her cell phone records; it was a pay phone by a gas station in Queens. A very conveniently placed traffic camera and security footage from the gas station did the rest, and that's where I found Edward Freeman's name."

"Does Freeman have any priors?"

"Just domestic violence, but he's been on the VCU radar for the past couple of months because of his association with Tylman, who's been a suspect in a couple of cases over the past eighteen months but no one has ever been able to get any hard evidence to hold up in court."

"Oh, great." Sam said, and he could practically see her eyes roll. He had to admit, he could see where she was coming from. This did not bode well for sixteen year old Natalie Burris, who got off the bus in front of her high school five days ago but did not report to first period. Prior to talking to Lenny that morning, the only real break they had gotten was when one of Natalie's classmates who had been running late that morning came forward saying that she had seen a suspicious man lurking around the school grounds when she had arrived that morning.

"Speaking of --" Martin said, eyes scanning the street ahead for parking spaces. "We're here."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam raise her head to take in the run down apartment building that was their destination.

Martin maneuvered into the first available parking space, hopping out of the car and swatting the door shut. In spite of the chill of the breeze, the sun glared brightly and he hid his eyes behind dark lenses until they were inside. Finding the building without a doorman, they easily made their way up the stairwell to the third floor.

The third floor hallway was eerily dark and damp, causing Martin to hug his coat closer to his body. They stopped in front of the door labeled '306,' and Sam flicked her wrist as she rapped against the faded red paint.

"Allan Tylman!" She called. "Open up!"

No response.

"Mr. Tylman!" He echoed forcefully, but with the same results.

"Mr. Tylman isn't here right now," a small voice carried down the hallway. Martin turned to see a young girl of about eight or nine lugging a large basket of laundry from the stairwell to apartment '305' just across the hall.

He felt Sam leave his side and rush to help the girl with the basket, which was clearly too large for the young child to carry on her own.

"Here, let me help you," Sam hoisted the basket onto her hip, carrying it with ease. "What's your name?"

"I'm Melanie," the girl replied.

"I'm Sam, and this is Martin," Sam explained. "We'd like to ask you a few questions about Mr. Tylman if that's okay with you."

Melanie nodded. Now that she was closer, Martin could make out her features in the dimly lit hallway. At this distance, her features appeared to make her closer to ten or eleven years old in spite of her small stature. She had wispy blonde hair and green eyes and, although she generally looked healthy, Martin noted that something seemed inherently 'off' with this small girl, although he attributed that to the fact that she ought to be in school at the moment.

"Do you know where Mr. Tylman is right now?" Sam asked.

Melanie shook her head quickly. "No. He hasn't been home in a couple of days."

"Do you remember when you last saw him?" Martin prompted carefully.

"On Thursday, in the morning. I think he was going away; he had a suitcase with him..."

_Melanie buttoned up her sweater and closed the door quietly. She turned her key in the lock and readjusted her backpack, when the door across the hall opened._

_"Hi, Melody." The dark-eyed, dark-haired form of Allan Tylman appeared in the doorframe pulling a large black suitcase behind him._

_"It's Melanie," she glared insistently. Mr. Tylman seemed to think this was funny; he always did._

_"Right, of course Melody." Mr. Tylman sneered._

_Melanie snorted her disapproval and started walking down the hallway, Mr. Tylman following close behind._

_When she reached the door to the stairwell, she flung it open in his face and took off down the stairs as fast as she could._

_As she jumped, skipping the final two steps at the bottom of the stairwell, she could still hear the steady repeated 'thud, thud' of Mr. Tylman's suitcase hitting each step._

_She ran through the foyer and out onto the sidewalk before he could have a chance to catch up._

"Does he go away a lot?" Sam continued, as Melanie finished her story.

"I guess so, he works on a boat."

Martin knew that there was no record of Tylman ever holding a job on a boat; his last listed employment on record was waiting tables at a bar over four years ago. "Do you know what boat he works on?" Martin inquired cautiously, not wanting to push his luck and make Melanie feel uncomfortable. This was as close as they had gotten to answers on Natalie Burris in the five days since she had gone missing.

"No, he never said. But he always comes home dirty and mom says he smells like the ocean."

He exchanged a meaningful glance with Sam, who seemed equally aware of the way the timeline fit with Natalie's disappearance and the clues that Melanie had unconsciously given them.

"Does your mom say anything else about Mr. Tylman?" Sam asked.

"No." Melanie said quickly.

"Do you think we could talk to your mom?" Sam pressed further. "We'd love to ask her a few questions too."

_Yeah,_ Martin thought. _For starters, why is your daughter not in school on a Monday morning?_

"I don't think so," Melanie said insistently. "My mom's not feeling well right now."

Melanie's replies came out so quickly and methodically, Martin was certain this was not the first time she was making these excuses.

"I can take this," Melanie said, pulling the laundry basket from Sam's grasp. "I need to go."

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Sam, and they watched the small girl struggle with the basket as she disappeared behind the door marked '305.'

He waited for Sam to start moving back down the hallway before turning to follow suit.

Once back outside, Martin welcomed the near-blinding sunlight, anxious to rid himself of the chills that had taken over his body.

"So," Sam raised her eyes to meet his, raising a hand to her face to shade herself from the sun. "Do you want to call Child Protective Services, or should I?"

"You call CPS, I'll fill Jack in?" He suggested, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

He dialed his boss' familiar number and waited to hear the gruff response on the other end of the line.

"Yeah -" Jack answered.

"Hey Jack, it's me. Tylman wasn't home, but his neighbor's kid said he left early last Thursday morning and hasn't been home since. The girl seemed to be under an impression that Tylman works on a boat..."

"Well that's interesting," Jack replied suggestively. "Because Danny did some background research and it seems that Tylman has been a frequent visitor at a motel that Edward Freeman's cousin runs, about forty miles outside the city. If I were a betting man, I'd say that it probably isn't too far away from the shoreline..." Jack paused momentarily, releasing an audible sigh. "I'll give local PD a call and get coast guard on the alert."

"Great," Martin nodded to no one in particular. "Get me the address, and Sam and I will be on our way as soon as she's done talking to CPS."

"What?" Jack asked incredulously.

"Yeah. The neighbor's kid definitely should have been in school, something was funny about her excuses. We just wanted to get someone to check up on the situation," Martin explained.

"No, no," Jack's voice was now heavy with irritation. "What is Sam doing with you?"

Martin felt his eyebrows cross. He worked with Sam all of the time; this was not something unusual. "She came with me to interview Tylman," he said. "Do you need her back at the office?"

"No, OPR has officially given her the all clear to be back in the field as of twenty minutes ago, so that's fine. But she had told me she was going to take a couple of days off."

Martin shrugged his shoulders. "I guess not, then."

Jack sighed again. "Does she seem okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Martin replied, reminding Jack to call back with the motel address and the rest of the details before hitting the 'end call' key and closing his phone.

A few feet away, he heard Sam rattle off details to Child Protective Services just like it was any other day, while he was left to wonder about Jack's cryptic questioning.

"You ready?" Sam mouthed silently as she waited for the person on the other end of the line. Saying her goodbyes, she snapped her own phone shut and placed it back in her pocket.

He nodded, climbing back into the driver's seat of the car. And as he turned the key in the ignition, he once again reminded himself that he no longer cared about Sam's secrets -- while at the same time, trying to forget that he was one of them.

xxx


	6. Five

xxx

_**chapter five**_

xxx

_maybe it's all too much  
how come we're so messed up  
maybe i'm not enough  
maybe you're just too much_  
-The Feeling, "Fill My Little World"

xxx

The sun grew hazy behind early afternoon clouds as the car pulled into the spot right beside the New York State Police van. Sam quickly unfastened her seatbelt and rose from the car, swatting the door shut behind her, and stared ahead at the Pinetree Motel and Lodge.

She strode in time with Martin, up to the local police officer who appeared to be in charge.

"We're Special Agents Spade and Fitzgerald," she introduced, offering her hand.

The captain shook her hand, then Martin's. "Captain Barry. I received instructions from your Supervisory Agent Malone."

"What do you have so far?" Martin asked.

"Is this the guy you're looking for?" Captain Barry held out a small photo of Allan Tylman; Sam and Martin both nodded. "We have him checking in here last Thursday, paid in cash through this weekend. But he appears to have vacated the premises, and we don't have any security videos of him leaving."

"Figures." Martin muttered under his breath as Captain Barry led them up the porch steps and through the creaking screen door into the lobby.

"Well," Sam laughed quietly as she fell into step with Martin, a few feet behind the police chief. "This place isn't exactly the Ritz."

Martin raised his left arm, gesturing toward the mismatched shades of light blue faded to grey that coated the far wall of the entranceway-turned-lobby. "No. Definitely not the Ritz," he agreed.

"I feel like I'm in a bad sixties thriller," she whispered, inhaling the dingy, musty smell that surrounded her with distaste.

They rounded the corner just a few steps behind Captain Barry, and she felt Martin's hand reassuringly against the small of her back. Just seconds later he dropped his hand back down to his side, a small smile playing awkwardly against his lips. She swallowed; their pace had slowed while Captain Barry had made fast strides towards the buzz carrying from far end of the hallway. Several members of the local Crime Scene Unit hovered around the yellow tape marking off the area behind an open door, cameras flashing rapidly.

She drew in a breath silently, forcing herself back in special agent mode, and took in the scene in front of them as they walked forward to be introduced to the Supervisor.

"These are Agents Fitzgerald and Spade," Barry looked over the shoulder of one the detectives to get a better view inside the room.

"What do you have?" Martin stepped forward across the yellow crime scene tape, watching closely as CSU took samples of a dark stain in the rug.

"Blood," the investigator stood, bagging the sample.

"I've got a third set of prints on the sink," another said, coming out of the bathroom. "We've got some hair samples to send to the lab, too."

"Does anyone know when they were last seen here?" Sam followed suit as Martin pulled on a pair of latex gloves and went to get a closer look at the cheap wooden wardrobe that stood in the back corner of the room.

"Oh, God," Martin said softly as the top drawer creaked open. Sam looked up inquisitively, reading the distress in his voice. He pulled several bed sheets from the drawer, each displaying large stains in various shades of dried blood.

She exhaled, moving wordlessly to the full size bed four feet away. She pulled the stiff polyester bedspread to one side. "The sheets are there," she gestured her hand back toward the dresser. "But what about the mattress pad?"

"No," Martin shook his head, opening and inspecting the remaining drawers.

"From what Childs' team told us, Tylman has always been very careful. That's why they've never been able to pin any of the murders on him," she said slowly, the wheels in her head turning. Danny had spoken with the Violent Crimes team SAC Norman Childs, and had relayed the details of several rape-homicide cases in which Tylman had been a prime suspect. Childs' team had never been able to get any substantial evidence; every body had been found washed up on shore weeks after the victim had been murdered, all physical evidence long since washed away. "This is pretty careless for him..."

"So, either something happened and he had to cut and run, or else he was planning to come back later to clean all of this up." Worry lines creased in Martin's forehead as he dropped his shoulders.

"So the question is: what happened?"

Martin sighed and nodded at her, both knowing that they were avoiding the other obvious question for as long as possible. _Where is the body?_

xxx

"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?" Liza Freeman stooped over the coffee table, moving several stacks of loose papers as she welcomed Sam and Martin into her living room, motioning for them to take a seat on the sofa.

"Tea would be great, thanks," Sam answered, more to give them a few minutes to look around the room uninterrupted than anything else.

Edward Freeman's cousin Liza, the owner of the motel, lived only fifteen minutes away in a modest sized home for a single woman in her late thirties. Sam turned her upper body, craning her neck to get a better look at the living room. The room was simple and neatly decorated, but very impersonal. The empty ivory walls seemed a blank expanse in contrast with the deep floral print on the sofa and loveseat. Nothing seemed particularly suspicious, but neither did the room seem homey.

"Here you are, Agent Spade," Liza returned, placing a mug down on the coffee table and sitting down in the chair across from them. "Now, you said you had some questions you wanted to ask me?"

"Yes, we wanted to ask you about your cousin Edward," Martin leaned forward in his seat. "When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Edward? Oh, it must have been just last week!"

"When he came to stay at the Pinetree?" Sam asked, trying to gauge how forthcoming Liza would be without having to probe more forcefully.

Liza shook her head. "I didn't say I saw him, I just talked to him on the phone."

"So, you mean he didn't stay at the Pinetree over the weekend?" Sam shifted, trying to read the situation.

"No," Liza confirmed. "What is this about?"

Martin stood and brushed his hands off against his slacks. "Sorry, but would it be alright if I used your bathroom?"

Liza nodded her head and gestured to the hallway that ran along the back of the house. "Of course. Last door on your left."

Martin disappeared down the hallway, and Sam found herself suddenly remembering a case from what seemed like forever ago, when Martin had excused himself to the bathroom, but instead went up to their suspect's bedroom to see if he could get any evidence. It had been the day right after she had first invited him home when everything had seemed so confusing but exciting, all at the same time...

_Sam paced around the living room of her apartment, trying to get her nerves under control. She had met Martin outside in a dark corner of the parking garage, where they would be safe from the view of security cameras. He had offered to drive her home or take her out to dinner, but she had declined. After all, it had been a long day and she was tired._

_Besides, if they went out then somebody they knew might see them. Sam had not really thought this out yet. She had not planned on it, just acted on impulse. She had not even seriously considered asking Martin home last night._

_But when he said that things were going to change for them, he had looked so nervously yet endearingly hopeful that she had ignored what common sense was telling her and instead had listened to her body. Her body and whatever romantic fantasy embedded deep in a dark corner of her brain that she was usually quite capable of ignoring._

_Martin said he was just going to run by his place to pick up a change of clothes and that he would be right along, but that had been over an hour ago. By all accounts, he should be here by now, and every second that passed by was another second that her brain reminded her of what a bad idea this was._

_She wandered aimlessly into her kitchen, her bare feet padding against the linoleum floor. She was greeted by a wave of cool air as she opened her refrigerator door, peering inside for something she could munch on to take her mind off of everything that had happened that day: the search for the blind girl Kelly and her companion Louise, her and Martin, knowing that Jack was on a flight to Chicago with Maria and the girls._

_Her stomach rumbled. Maybe she should just order out..._

_"I know they don't teach you to lock your own doors at Quantico, but I think that's just because they figure that it's something most federal agents just do on their own..." Martin stood in her doorway, overnight bag in one hand and cardboard pizza box in the other, grinning from ear to ear as he teased her._

_She shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully, her fears rapidly disappearing. "This smells great," she took the pizza box from him and led him back to the kitchen._

_He dropped his bag by the door to her bedroom, reaching out for her hand as she put the box down on her kitchen table. He pulled her to him, his hands dropping to rest on her hips, and leaned down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her earlier anxiety now completely gone._

_"Hey," he breathed, smiling when he finally pulled away. Sam found herself too breathless to reply, which allowed him the time for his smile to turn into a smirk. "You really should lock your door, you know. What if I had been an axe murderer..."_

_She laughed. "No offense, but I think I could take you." She left him by the kitchen counter, retreating to bolt the door shut. "Besides, I don't think you should be talking," she called out as she returned to sit down at the table in front of him. "After all, you were the one who got your ass handed to you just two hours ago."_

_Martin shrugged, coming to sit in the chair beside her. He ran his hand along her arm, sending shivers coursing through her body. She remembered how unsatisfied she had felt, even after a cold shower that morning, and suddenly wanted to forgo dinner and just head straight to bed. But her stomach would not be deterred, growling softly as the smell of the pizza wafted through the room._

_"Hungry?" Martin laughed, his dimples showing._

_"Maybe just a little. I think I forgot to eat lunch..." she admitted, shaking her head embarrassed. She gestured to the pizza box, "What'd you get?"_

_Martin opened the box, "Pepperoni, sausage, onion, mushrooms, and green peppers... I, uh, couldn't remember what you liked so I figured I would just get a little bit of everything and then you could take off what you didn't want."_

_Sam took two paper plates from the stack on the end of the table, handing one to Martin and keeping one for herself. She took a slice of pizza from the box and lifted it to her lips, savoring the taste as she swallowed. She smiled at him. "Green peppers are my favorite."_

xxx

"So anyway, Agent. What is this about?" Liza's voice was filled with greater urgency the second time she posed the question.

Sam once again forced herself to jump back into special agent mode, her voice the calm and demanding one of a trained investigator. "Ma'am, we just want to know a little bit more about your cousin. He's under investigation as a possible suspect in a missing persons case, and if you have any information about his whereabouts that could help us clear him, I would suggest that you tell us now."

"Eddie? That's impossible! He was always such a good kid. I know he had some arguments with his ex-wife that got misinterpreted, but that was all cleared up..." Liza rambled, her voice coming rapid-fire as she defended her younger cousin.

"Ms. Freeman," Sam raised her eyes to bring Liza back to focus. "I'm sorry, I know this must be difficult to understand, but we really need to know if you've seen your brother at the Pinetree at any time in the last five days."

Liza shook her head, a blank look crossing her face. "No, I haven't. But that was why Eddie called me: he wanted to wish me well on my trip. I spent the long weekend at a business conference; my assistant manager is in charge for the rest of the week."

Sam glanced at her watch discretely, trying to discern how long Martin had been gone and how much longer she had to stall. Her gut told her that Liza was clueless. She pulled out the photograph of Allan Tylman, placing it on the coffee table so that Liza could take a look. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

Liza picked up the photo tentatively, inspecting it for a few minutes before placing it down on the table. "Yes," she said slowly. "I saw him this morning, having a smoke outside the lobby, when I went to deliver the new payroll forms... I felt like he knew me from somewhere, but I couldn't place him. I didn't think I had ever seen him before." Her hands fiddled nervously in her lap, "What does this have to do with Eddie?"

"We're not sure yet, Ms. Freeman. That's what we're trying to find out." Martin reappeared, walking to the other side of the room towards the front door and motioning for her to follow. He stopped long enough by where Liza sat to wish her goodbye.

Sam rose, leaning over the coffee table to shake Liza's hand and to give her a card, urging her to call if she remembered anything else that she thought might be important. Sam then followed Martin's retreating figure out the front door of the house and onto the uneven stone walk that lead to the driveway.

"You get anything?" She asked.

"Just a cursory look, but nothing of interest."

"I don't think she knows anything, either. As far as she's concerned, her cousin 'Eddie' is a model citizen and a wonderful human being." Sam heard the familiar click of the car doors unlocking, and pulled the passenger door open, hopping back inside. "Pretty clueless if you ask me."

From the driver's seat, he tilted his neck in her direction, his eyes haunting as they met hers. "Well," he said slowly. "People will believe what they want to believe until they have no choice but to face the truth."

"So, what? Ignorance is bliss?"

Martin turned the key in the ignition and adjusted the settings on the air conditioner. "Yeah," he sighed, and it hung heavy between them: a barrier of sorts. "Something like that."

xxx


	7. Six

xxx

_**chapter six**_

xxx

_i could feel it go down  
you left the sweetest taste in my mouth  
your silver lining the clouds  
oh and i -- i wonder what it's all about_

_i wonder what it's all about_

_everything i know is wrong  
everything i do just comes undone  
and everything is torn apart_  
-Coldplay, "The Hardest Part"

xxx

To Martin's right, Sam shivered and leaned forward to shift the air conditioning vent away from her. "Where are we headed?"

He noticed her obvious discomfort with the vehicle temperature and twisted the knob to turn the fan to minimum. He occasionally forgot how easily she could get chilled even when the sun was shining. "The marina about five minutes from here. Coast Guard called me while we were at the house; they said they had something they needed us to take a look at."

The shrill ring from Sam's cell phone interrupted, and he heard her flip it open to answer. "Spade -- Oh, hey Elena. What do you have?"

Up ahead, Martin saw the traffic light turn red and put his foot on the brakes. Once the vehicle had stopped completely in the line of traffic, he cautioned a glance to his right as Sam listened to Elena on the other end of the phone.

Even after everything that they had been through, he admired the way that she could pull herself together to work at a time when so much was obviously going on in her personal life. Of course, her ability to shove her issues and problems to one side and act as though nothing was bothering her had - at one point in time - frustrated him to no end. But that time was over, and worrying about her as a coworker and a friend was far easier than worrying about her as her ... whatever they had been.

Time may have passed, but he still refused to call what they had just "sleeping together," even if she herself did. There was no point in sugar coating her feelings, but he had never been a master of hiding his. Nor had he ever wanted to.

The light turned green again, and he pushed his right foot back down on the accelerator. He thought back to a time when he had been in a similar position, and she had been his support. Back before they allowed "them" to get complicated, and he naively thought the future was full of potential...

_Martin refilled his coffee mug for the fourth time that morning. The hot bitter liquid burned his throat as he took a long sip._

_His chest heaved, tight with discontent. He had considered taking the day off because he was in no mental state to be working right now. But he did not want to have to explain that he needed time off because his aunt, the one person who had always been there for him, was dying -- faster than the doctors had anticipated. Besides, there was not a lot that he could do for Aunt Bonnie other than give her the space and time that she and Roger needed to adjust to her rapidly worsening prognosis. He had barely even spoken to them since arriving at the hospital on Saturday, just a few brief words about arranging home health care and making decisions about whether or not it would be wise to continue dialysis given Aunt Bonnie's progressive renal failure and its effect on her overall health._

_Behind him, the lounge door swung open and Vivian walked in. "Hey, Martin. DNA just came back on the hair we found in the car. Get this: it's Frank Nardone's."_

_Martin swallowed and turned around to face her. With an upbeat sarcasm that he did not feel, he replied, "Ahh, the plot thickens."_

_"Yes, it does." Vivian nodded and pulled the door to the refrigerator open. She leaned back against the counter, opening the plastic container and beginning to pick her fork through her salad. She looked up at him, concerned. "So, are you doing alright?"_

_"I'm fine," he said defensively and clutched his mug tighter with his hand._

_"Okay." Vivian agreed with a tone that said she probably didn't believe him. She did not press the matter. "We should take another look at Nardone's bank statement. I'm having a hard time believing that a man who was as devoted a father as everyone said he was would have just up and left. Maybe there's something that we missed the first time..."_

_"I'll go see if anything jumps out at me." Martin rotated his neck until he heard the familiar cracking noise. "Later, Viv," he called over his shoulder as he retreated back to the conference table._

_Danny sat on one end, files spread out in front of him. Martin turned back to his desk to locate where he had put their missing person's bank statements when he noticed a small yellow post it note sticking out from underneath his computer keyboard._

_He picked up the note, recognizing the tiny feminine script immediately._

_'Lunch on me if you're up for it. Let me know. --S.'_

_Sam. He had been almost embarrassed to face her this morning after the way he had broken down on Saturday night at the hospital. When he ran into her right outside the building, though, she had smiled reassuringly and his nervous anticipation at facing her at the office had been replaced by the way his heart began to beat rapidly in his chest._

_She had been out of the office for the majority of the morning interviewing several of their missing persons classmates and teachers. Obviously, though, she was back._

_He smiled in spite of himself and pocketed the tiny slip of paper._

xxx

Sam exhaled and snapped her phone shut, visibly more comfortable now that she found the car temperature agreeable. "That was Elena. They just got forensics back on Tylman's vehicle: the blood sample they matched with Natalie's was positive -- it's her blood. The DNA from the hair matched, too."

The trained investigator in him kicked in, pushing personal thoughts to one side. "So what are we thinking: Freeman meets Natalie somewhere and they start seeing each other, but it's all part of some bigger scheme to lure her away from home."

"I think Natalie was a target. She fits with his profile of past vics, and all of her friends said she felt smothered by her ex-boyfriend. She must have been looking for a reason to break it off with him; I think Tylman used Freeman to draw her out," Sam spoke rapidly, the wheels in her head obviously turning as she went with her theory. "Crazier things have happened."

He nodded subconsciously and noted the large green exit sign on the right side of the highway. "You're right -- it wouldn't be the first time."

"I've been right more than once before, you know," Sam laughed softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

"None of that fake indignant crap." He returned her light laughter and pulled the steering wheel to direct the car onto the exit ramp.

"Anyway," Sam continued, her voice serious now. "No one reports seeing any disturbances by the school, so my guess is that she went willingly and it went bad later when Natalie realized what was going on."

He took one hand off of the wheel long enough to run it along his face. "Makes sense," he agreed.

Martin turned into the parking lot and pulled into a space near the front of the lot by the other Coast Guard vehicles. It was a public marina but, due to grey, cloudy skies, strong wind, and reports of afternoon storms, it was essentially devoid of civilians.

The breeze blew in from the water and felt cool as it whipped against his face. A few steps ahead, he watched as Samantha's hair blew every which way and, frustrated, she pulled it up and out of her face.

"Agents?" A tall, lanky man in uniform standing at the base of the main dock called out to them. He nodded in acknowledgement as they approached, and spoke in a firm voice through a heavy Brooklyn accent. "Lieutenant Torres, I spoke to one of you on the phone?"

"That would be me," Martin extended his right hand. "Agent Fitzgerald. This is my partner, Agent Spade."

"You said you had something to show us?" Sam leaned forward, eyes scanning the scene about thirty feet in front of where they stood.

Martin's eyes followed in the same direction to see several other uniformed officers standing together in a large group near the jagged rocks along the shoreline. The officers were hovering over something, their backs to where he and Samantha stood with Lt. Torres. Martin did not have a good view of what the officers were standing over, but he had a good idea anyway. From Sam's tone of voice, he suspected she did too.

"We found her washed up against the rocks," Torres said matter-of-factly and motioned for Sam and Martin to follow. "When we heard over the radio that the FBI was looking for a girl about her age, with similar features, we called your SAC right away. We were hoping you could make an ID for us, otherwise we're going to need to open a new case." Torres paused, lowering his voice as they approached the four officers who stood by the rocks. "From the looks of it, she's only been dead a few hours."

The other officers stepped aside as Lt. Torres introduced them, giving them a view of the body that lay out on the rocks. Martin took three steps forward and leaned his body over the dead girl's outstretched form. Beside him, he felt Sam follow suit.

The body lay face up, limp and lifeless against the rocks. Bits of seaweed were stuck in her dark hair, and her obviously expensive clothes were ripped and tattered, matted down against her body.

Sam leaned in closer to inspect the knife wounds on the girls torso and abdomen. "Fits with Tylman's M.O."

"Is this your girl?" Lt. Torres called from where he stood with the other officers.

Martin took out the photo of the girl he had kept in his jacket pocket, a copy of Natalie Burris' last yearbook photograph. He glanced at the dark-haired, blue-eyed girl who smiled back at him through the glossy photograph, eyes sparkling and full of life, and then back at the girl who lay in front of them, her body bruised, bloody, and several beaten. "Yes," he lowered his eyes and his voice broke slightly. "This is our girl."

"What happened?" Torres inquired as Martin turned back around. "You don't usually get girls wearing Lilly Pulitzer out here..."

"Vulnerable teenage girl falls victim to a serial rapist and murderer," Sam answered simply, her back still to Lt. Torres and the other officers. She cast another glance at Natalie's lifeless body, inhaled audibly, and turned around.

"It's a shame." Torres shook his head and muttered to himself, his accent growing thicker through his obvious frustration. "This girl looks like she had everything, such a waste... Where are the parents when all of this is going on?"

"The parents were where parents always are when something like this is going on," Sam whispered from where she stood beside him. "They were somewhere else."

Martin remained silent, not sure he could disagree with her even if he wanted to.

xxx


	8. Seven

xxx

_**chapter seven**_

xxx

_so far, so good  
you try to sing along to the radio  
but it's not your language, not your song  
it's from some other time ago_

_and you're thinking about how someone died that day  
the you that was so carefully planned  
but then again maybe this life is like a sleeping mountain  
waking up to shape the land_  
-Vienna Teng, "Shasta (Carrie's Song)"

xxx

_Sam stretched out her finger tentatively before depressing the small button for the doorbell. She and Martin stood on the front porch of a very impressive Long Island home, waiting for one of the Burris' to come to the door._

_They did not have to wait long, though. Within a few seconds, she heard scampering footsteps as someone bounded down a set of stairs, and a muffled "I'm coming!" that sounded like it came from a young boy._

_About thirty seconds later, the door flung open and a young boy of about eleven stood, face flushed and slightly breathless. "Agent Fitzgerald!" He panted, looking up at the agents with hopeful eyes. "Did you find Natalie!?"_

_"Hey, whoa! Slow down there buddy," Martin said as the little boy let them inside. "Are you okay, Lenny?"_

_Lenny took a few deeper breaths, still gasping a little. He nodded and led them through the foyer, down several hallways, and into the kitchen. As they walked, Sam felt her eyes widen as she took in the obvious grandeur of the home - crystal chandeliers and extravagant gold-plated mirrors on display every way they turned._

_In the kitchen, Lenny immediately went to one of the cabinets by the sink and bent over to open it. When he stood up, he held an inhaler in his hands. He held the small plastic contraption to his lips and exhaled forcefully. She heard the small puff as he depressed the small vial containing the medicine, breathing in deeply. After ten or fifteen seconds' time, he repeated the process._

_It obviously helped. His breathing slowed and evened out, and it no longer appeared like he was gasping for breath._

_"Sorry about that," he explained apologetically. "Mom forgot to get my Advair refilled and I'm all out of Xopenex. She's at the store now getting them refilled."_

_"That's alright, buddy. Don't apologize," Martin said._

_Sam, meanwhile, found herself marveling at how even the kitchen was extravagantly decorated. She turned her attention back to Lenny just in time to see him look at them expectantly and say, "So, did you find Natalie?"_

_"We really need to wait until one of your parents gets home, Lenny," Sam explained, trying to mask the sorrow in her voice. Her heart broke for the young boy, who clearly adored his older sister._

_"Oh, I'm sorry. Lenny, this is Agent Spade. She's one of my partners," Martin introduced her formally and waved his hands apologetically._

_Lenny smiled. "You're pretty," he said. "Natalie always wanted to have hair like yours, but Mom told her she couldn't get it dyed unless she got an A in physics when we get report cards in June." Lenny's grin broadened. "I've never seen her study so hard," he laughed._

_Sam glanced at Martin and then back at Lenny, giving him a weak smile. "Your sister is very beautiful," she said quietly._

_Lenny motioned for them to follow him once again, and he led them down to the basement. They weaved through the room with the wet bar and the pool table and into what was obviously the den. Two large plush leather sofas sat facing each other, one on either side of the wall. A big screen TV sat in one corner, and the bookshelf appeared to hold more videos and DVDs than any Blockbuster Sam had ever been in. This was obviously the kids' sanctuary: one half of the wall space was lined with posters of Justin Timberlake and Johnny Depp and photos of Natalie with all of her friends; the other half was decorated with life-sized images of Tiki Barber, Derek Jeter, and Alex Rodriguez. Sam released a quiet laugh, immediately realizing how easily Martin must have connected with the young boy._

_"It's more comfortable down here," Lenny explained and plopped himself down on one of the sofas. "We can wait here until my mom gets home. She said she'd come right home, this time."_

xxx

Sam swallowed hard, blocking out the memory as her fingers quickly tapped against her keyboard. In frustration, she hit the backspace key repeatedly until the last sentence she had typed disappeared completely.

She could not keep her focus long enough to type up a decent case summation.

"Hey, whoa!" A male voice behind her called out. "I know your computer has been giving you trouble, but save all that anger and rage for the real criminals." The voice laughed, comfortable and familiar as it rang in her ears. It was Martin.

She leaned back in her chair and pushed against her desk with one hand just enough for the chair to rotate. When she was completely turned around, she saw Martin place several cartons of Chinese food on the conference table.

"Dinner?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's 6:30," he shrugged and motioned towards the windows that revealed the dark evening sky. He sat and opened one of the boxes, biting off a piece of an eggroll. "You're not on call," he said, swallowing. "What's up?"

She turned her chair back around and spoke over her shoulder, "I just want to finish this up; I don't want it hanging over my head all weekend."

"Good idea," he agreed. He was silent for a few minutes, probably chewing, before speaking up again. "You hungry?" He asked tentatively, "Because I've got more than enough if you want to share..."

Sam stared intently at her computer screen for a few seconds, and took her mouse and clicked 'save.' Her chair spun back around and she pulled up to the conference table. "I could use a break," she said softly.

"Can't get Natalie out of your mind, either?" He asked in a hushed voice, even though they were two of the only people left in the office.

Sam shook her head 'no' and leaned forward, inspecting the cartons of Chinese food.

He remained silent for a few seconds and took a drink from the Dasani bottle that sat beside his stack of files. Then from across the table, she felt his eyes rise again to meet hers as she chewed carefully on some vegetables. "Do you think she knew?" He said quietly.

Sam paused thoughtfully, not need to ask what Martin was talking about...

_Sam sat around the conference table with Vivian, both looking over files of insurance claims that their missing person, an insurance executive with extensive personal assets, had denied. Martin sat as his desk, talking brusquely to someone on the other end of the telephone._

_"Alright. Well, thank you for telling us... Yes, we appreciate it... Thank you."_

_He practically threw his desk phone back into the receiver, causing both Sam and Vivian to look up at his sudden outburst._

_Vivian raised an eyebrow, looking as though she was about to speak. But before she could say anything, Martin stood quickly from his chair and turned around to face them. "That was the coroner, calling with Natalie Burris' autopsy results," he explained and crossed his arms protectively across his chest. "Cause of death were the several stab wounds to the chest and abdomen, just like all of Tylman's other victims."_

_Martin paused and leaned forward against the conference table. There was obviously something more that the coroner had told him._

_  
"What is it, Martin?" Vivian asked, closing the manila folder she had been holding to give him her full attention._

_Sam followed suit, completely unprepared for what Martin was about to say next._

_"According to the coroner," Martin said slowly, releasing a sigh and raising one hand just enough to massage the side of his neck, "Natalie was about seven weeks pregnant at the time of death."_

_Sam fought with all the strength she could muster against the violent urge she suddenly had to be sick._

xxx

She placed her elbow against the wood finish of the table top and leaned her face against her hand, supporting her head. She replied pensively, shaking her head. "It's possible that she knew, but chances are she had no idea. She was only seven weeks along; at sixteen, it's not that unusual to still be irregular."

Martin nodded, silently accepting her explanation. "At least the DNA from the fetus helped us officially tie the case to Freeman; between that and the evidence they left in the room, we should finally have enough to bring Tylman down, too."

"Yeah," she breathed silently. Suddenly, the food seemed extremely hot and spicy, and she felt her throat go dry. Wordlessly, she reached out and grabbed his water bottle. She twisted off the plastic blue cap and lifted the bottle to her lips, seemingly unable to cleanse her palate. He looked at her questioningly, and she darted her eyes to the side as she replaced the cap on the bottle. She started to speak again, words flowing freely from her mouth. "It's a lot easier to ignore it when you just don't want to know," she explained quietly, and her voice broke and trailed off.

She heard Martin stop alternating between chopsticks and his white plastic fork and turn his full attention at what she had just said. Care and concern etched across his face, and his hand fell cautiously across the table against her arm. "Emily?" He whispered, and he squeezed her forearm reassuringly.

"A few days before she, uh, ran away," Sam began nervously, picking at a tiny thread loose on her blouse, "she had come down with some stomach flu. It had been going around school, so it was pretty easy to write off. But still, she was my sister; I should have known."

"You were 14, Sam. No one blames you for not knowing," he said softly, his lips curling up in a small smile. She knew she did not need to explain about how Emily had run away. She had given him vague details at one point in time and, knowing him, he would not have forgotten so easily.

She shook her head weakly, still unable to consciously admit that she blamed herself. But it felt surprisingly 'okay' to have someone listen to her just for the sake of listening, and she found suddenly that she did not want their conversation to end just yet. "I told myself that she just needed to get away from everything that had happened. When she came back, I didn't want to ask any questions that might upset her, and it just stayed that way. Until this week, I hadn't really talked to her since I was fourteen." She laughed bitterly and massaged her temple.

"Well, you have to start somewhere, right?"

"I guess so." She shrugged her shoulders and sighed quietly. Her body still tense and wracked with guilt.

Martin sat back against his chair for a few minutes, giving her tentative looks that she knew meant something was pressing on his mind but he obviously did not know how to ask her. She nodded her head to prompt him.

"What I don't understand," he said slowly, "is how Jeff Henry got it in his head that Emily was somehow involved in his father's disappearance. You said you never really saw many of your mom's boyfriends, so how would Emily have been involved?"

Sam bit her bottom lip, briefly considering giving him a half truth. 'Jeff Henry was crazed lunatic' would probably have done the trick, and it would not have been a lie either. Instead, she squared her shoulders resolutely and knew that what she really wanted was to tell him the truth. "Emily didn't tell me everything," she started quietly, then cleared her throat and began to speak with more confidence, "but I would guess that he put the pieces together when Emily came to him to ask if he would get blood drawn for the bone marrow test." She paused, seeing the silent question reflecting in Martin's face as to how the two things were connected. Before he got a chance to ask, she met his eyes - no longer afraid - and answered. "Jeff Henry wasn't Randy's father; Joe was."

Martin cast his eyes downward momentarily, then returned to lock his eyes with hers questioningly. "You're sure?"

Sam closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. The second I found out she'd been pregnant, I knew. She didn't list him on the birth certificate, but can you blame her?"

Martin frowned, confused. "You knew, too?"

"I knew something wasn't right with her, and then one night I realized that he had come by and my mom wasn't even home. She worked every Monday night, so it was weird that he was there. When I realized Emily wasn't home either, I took off looking for her. I was in the woods that led up to the old cabin that Joe's family owned, and I found the headband Emily had been wearing. So I biked back home and found a shovel. When I got back, I found them -- together. I don't think I really even knew what I was doing, but I took the shovel, and I killed him." She leaned back in her chair, and felt the tension in her shoulders begin to dissolve. Across the table, Martin appeared to have been rendered temporarily speechless, obviously unsure of how to respond although empathy radiated from his face. He seemed to know, instinctively, that she did not want pity; that she just wanted somebody to listen. "I'm sorry," she apologized quietly, "I didn't mean to dump all of this on you."

"Hey," he smiled and reached out to squeeze her hand, "We're still friends, right?"

She squeezed back and forced a smile through her heavy heart, "Always."

He nodded, returning her smile in earnest. "That's what I'm here for."

"But still, thank you -- for listening."

"Anytime," he grinned easily and turned his attention back to the food, sensing the conversation was ending.

She watched him eat for a few moments, one weight lifted from her shoulders and, for the first time, it allowed her to feel a smaller weight that must have been present all along. So many things had changed, for all of them, but underneath it all he was still the same man she had never fully allowed herself to see.

She rose from her seat at the conference table and took a few steps towards her desk. "There's no way I'm going to finish this report tonight," she said thoughtfully, clicking off her computer monitor and collecting her things. He looked up from the Chinese food and file folders, and she smiled. "Have a good weekend, Martin. Don't work too hard."

"You know I won't," he laughed. "I'll see you bright and early Monday morning."

"Oh --" She released a short breath, realizing what she had forgotten to share with him earlier. "Actually, maybe a little later rather than earlier. I have an appointment with the transplant center at Mt. Sinai on Monday morning; I probably won't be in until 10:00."

He tilted his head inquisitively, eyes scanning for a sign. "The transplant center? Does that mean --"

"Yes, it does," her eyes shone with cautious excitement, and she absent-mindedly ran her left hand over the crook of her right elbow where a small bruise still remained. "Preliminary tests look good, they're going to go ahead and start me on transplant protocol on Monday."

"Wow," he breathed. "Sam, that's ... that's _great_ news."

"I know," she said softly as her voice caught in her throat. She felt as though she was slowly healing and taking small steps, confiding honestly in someone who would respect her trust. She knew it was far too little, too late, but it was the only thing he had ever really asked of her.

And she wondered why something that had at one point seemed so difficult, had come to her so easily.

xxx


	9. Eight

xxx

_**chapter eight**_

xxx

_being weak, when i am strong  
being seen, for who you are  
being sad and lost but not alone  
but listen and think when i say_

_oh, but listen and think when i say_  
-Dido, "Who Makes You Feel"

xxx

Martin fidgeted restlessly in his seat, the metal folding chair squeaking beneath him in protest.

It was a cool Sunday afternoon in spite of the bright sun that stung his eyes through the large panel windows at the community center. He could not be bothered to focus as a middle-aged man told the story of his tragic long battle with alcohol: how he lost everything important in his life before he had realized just how low he had fallen, and how he was struggling just to get his three children to talk to him again.

Martin's thoughts, instead, were racing at warp speed, and the meeting that happened to best suit his schedule was secondary at best.

It had been two days since he had offered to share his Chinese food and, in return, Sam had confided in him in way that she never had before. Everything happened so suddenly that he had barely been aware of what she had been saying, but he knew that the look of relief that washed over her face would be etched in his memory forever.

Suddenly, Sam fell into place right in front of him. He idly studied his memory, finding traces of her at every corner of his brain and struggling to put the pieces together to form a concrete picture.

She was not supposed to have this effect on him still, not anymore. The mutual agreement stood that they could be casual friends who worked together, and nothing more. More tread on dangerous waters, and it could not be permitted.

His eyes anxiously scanned the room as he tried to clear his head and take his mind off of her, but to no avail. His gaze landed on a young woman who had hobbled in on crutches. Back at the beginning of the meeting, when he still held vague hopes of paying attention, he remembered her telling of her struggles in refusing the pain medication offered to her when she broke her leg.

The young woman had introduced herself as Darlene. Her curly light brown hair fell around her shoulders, framing her tanned skin, and her tall, thin frame leaned heavily on her crutches as though she were hanging on for dear life. And though she bore no physical resemblance to Samantha, she held something deep behind her eyes that reminded him of the look that Sam offered far to infrequently, the same blank sorrowful stare she had revealed the first time he had asked about her family.

xxx

_He walked past her door three times before finally getting a few perturbed looks from the direction of the nurses' station._

_Danny had dropped by late last night, after bringing Sydney Harrison by to be checked out in the emergency room. He had mentioned he was going to stick around to see how Sam's surgery went -- just to be sure -- and Martin, not feeling comfortable enough to go that same night as well, had insisted Danny call him no matter the hour to give him the progress report. He simply chose to ignore the suggestive looks Danny had given him at this request._

_Finally planting his feet firmly in front of the door labeled 518, he took a deep breath and tried to settle his nerves and let the butterflies fall to the pit of his stomach. He swallowed and willed himself to walk across the threshold of her hospital room._

_The curtain was drawn, and he rapped his fist against the side of the wall._

_"Come on in," Her voice carried weakly from just a few feet away, and he cautiously pulled the curtain aside to step forward into her room. She lay on the hospital bed, appearing tired and weak, but her face had more color than the previous evening and she clearly looked to be getting better. Her left leg was propped up in front of her, and she had CNN muted on the television screen in the corner of the room._

_"Hey, Samantha," he smiled down at her. "Are you feeling any better?"_

_She coughed, trying to clear her throat. She waved her arm in the air and nodded towards the IV line in place. "This morphine stuff is pretty good," she laughed quietly._

_He chuckled softly in return. "I'll bet."_

_He eyed the few 'Get Well Soon' gifts that lined the otherwise empty, bare walls of the hollow room. A brightly colored balloon had been tethered to the armrest of one of the chairs in the corner; a knot that was clearly Danny's handy work. Two floral arrangements sat on the shelf side by side: one card read 'Get Well Soon! Love Vivian, Marcus and Reggie.' The other was unsigned._

_"From your family?" He asked, motioning at the second arrangement._

_She shook her head slowly and bit her lower lip, only a subtle change in her expression that seemed to speak volumes in a language he did not quite grasp. Later, he would overhear Danny and Vivian whispering that she had specifically requested that they not call her mother or her sister, even though her sister lived close enough that she could be in the city in a few hours. And he would wonder if the sorrowful expression that crossed her face had been directed at the mysterious person who had sent the flowers, or at the family members who had not._

_He slid his backpack off his shoulders and took out the small gift he had come across in the hospital gift shop downstairs. He sat the brown stuffed bear on the shelf next to the second vase of flowers, and surreptitiously slipped the card behind it. "To add to your collection," he explained, grinning, as he looked at her affectionately. "Try to keep this one away from your drunken roommates," he teased._

_"I'm telling you!" She exclaimed indignantly, "Katie made me look like a saint."_

_He smirked. "Now that I'd like to see."_

_She huffed silently for a few seconds, before clenching her jaws together and inhaling deeply through her nose. Her eyes closed as she willed herself to keep the pain under control._

_"Do you want me to get you something? Call a nurse?" He asked, worriedly._

_Eyes still closed, she shook her head no. "It comes in waves," she mumbled. "It's okay."_

_She shivered, and he reached out to adjust the blankets better over her small frame. His hand accidentally brushed against the bare skin along her collarbone that was not covered by the flimsy material of the hospital gown. He pulled back, suddenly, and tried to ignore the way it burned as he hid the offending hand inside the pocket of his slacks._

_It hit against something cool and leather that was not his, and he remembered the item he picked up impulsively at the scene the night before._

_"I wanted to make sure you got this back," he said, willing his hand not to shake as he held her ID badge out. "We all missed you today, Samantha."_

_"Thanks," she said softly. She stretched her arm to meet his and adjusted her torso so that she was sitting up. She inspected her own ID badge carefully for a few seconds, then cast her eyes back towards him. She smiled. "And Martin?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"You can call me 'Sam,' you know."_

_His heart skipped a beat, and he smiled back, hoping the shadows masked the flush he felt rising on his face._

_"Sure thing," he answered, "College girl."_

xxx

"Martin?" Ed leaned over and shook his shoulder. "Hey Martin, are you still with us? Meeting ended almost five minutes ago, and you haven't moved."

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Martin rose from the metal folding chair and stretched his shoulders out.

"What do you say we blow this joint, grab some real coffee, and you can tell me what's really on your mind?" Ed was a large, imposing man for someone who was pushing sixty-five. His graying hair and wide smile usually made him feel more of a grandfather type, but his lips were currently pursed and his eyes insistent, showing traces of his NYPD background. This was a statement, not a question.

Rather than waste energy arguing in a losing battle, Martin agreed. "Sure," he slipped on his trench coat. "I think there's a place a couple of blocks from here if you want to walk?"

Ed nodded in affirmation, and they quickly slipped out of the bustling community center.

The nearest hole-in-the-wall coffee shop was actually closer than Martin had remembered, and they quickly settled into a booth in the back corner of the room. Soft jazz played over the speakers, and Martin took in his surroundings. A flustered young mother stood at the counter, trying to order while simultaneously hoisting her toddler onto her hip; several students sat in a group, bent over textbooks and a small pile of to go cups building up by their feet; along one wall, an older couple sat, seemingly content to just sit together holding hands.

"So, Martin. What's on your mind?" Ed sipped his coffee and sat back, signaling that he was ready.

Martin took a deep breath and began, "I was on call Friday night, and I ran out to pick up something to eat while I sorted through some backed up files. Sam was still in the office when I got back, and we started talking about this case that we wrapped up earlier in the week." He paused and rubbed his hand along his chin and cast his eyes to the Sunday afternoon sunlight through the window. He wanted to focus his thoughts; he knew he needed to talk about this so as not to stall his recovery. But it was still raw and fresh and new, and he did not want to betray her confidences or his own emotions. "It was a tough case, and it hit close to home for her in more ways than I realized. Her sister actually went missing at around the same time, and we worked that case too. It all sort of hit at once, and we were already overwhelmed from some backlash against another team..."

"So how does all of this involve you, specifically?" Ed adjusted the lid to his drink, giving Martin an encouraging smile and silently urging him to continue.

He swallowed, "While we were talking, she started talking about something that happened to her a long time ago. When we were together, talking about her past -- or about anything personal -- Well, she never really let us. At first I didn't push the subject, and after a while, I got tired of trying." He lowered his eyes to inspect several scratches on the table top, and took a long drink. He sighed audibly and furrowed his eyebrows, not trying to hide the hurt and confusion coursing through him. "I had forgotten that she could make me feel like this."

Ed leaned forward and emphatically put his drink down on the table. "How so?"

"In that moment," he said, crossing his arms and mentally calling up the image of her soft expressions as she spoke, "it was like I could actually _see_ her."

xxx


	10. Nine

xxx

_**chapter nine**_

xxx

_i won't say "stay"  
i'll play the marble heart  
you're beautiful -- maybe so  
but it's gotten dark_

_so it's just you  
walking through the pain you made_  
-Trespassers William, "Umbrella"

xxx

The second her hand came in contact with the rim of the pot sitting on her stove, Sam jumped back instinctively. "Ah, shit!" she hissed, waving her hand back and forth and rushing to the sink. She turned the faucet and ran her hand under the cool water. Her eyes watered slightly as she inspected the small red mark on her right index finger; it stung.

"Are you alright in there?" she heard a voice carry in from the living room, where her sister sat investigating the contents of her bookshelves.

"I'm fine, Emily," she called back. "I wasn't paying attention and I burned my finger."

"Ooh, okay. If you're sure," Emily said as she poked her head through the door and came to take a seat at the table. "Andrew just called. He's stuck in traffic and says he's about twenty minutes out."

"Great," Sam said, turning off the faucet and shaking her hand out once more. "Pasta should be ready by then," she announced, matter-of-factly. "I'm just going to run and see if I have any burn cream in the bathroom."

Sam made her way into the bathroom and inspected her medicine cabinet until she found the tube she was looking for. Twisting the top off, she applied a small amount to the angry red mark on her finger and considered how much things had changed since the morning a little over a week ago when she had first received Emily's message.

They had promised to try harder to keep in touch, and this time, they both seemed to be putting effort forth. They decided to have dinner at least once a month and, as a sort of peace offering for years of relative indifference, Sam had suggested that Andrew come along so that she could get to know him better.

She absent-mindedly flicked her wrist a few more times and leaned forward to inspect the dark circles under her eyes in the mirror. They were well-hidden under a layer of concealer, as if to hide her weariness from the outside world. But try as she might, she could no longer hide it from herself.

She jumped back, startled, when a soft rapping came from just outside.

"Sam?" Emily's voice called softly.

"I'll be right out," she said quickly. She ran her hands through her hair, adjusting the strands that fell loosely around her face, and joined her sister in the bedroom.

"Hey, I was just thinking ..." Emily led. "Do you still have our copy of the yearbook from your freshman year?"

"I'm not sure. Why?" Sam said questioningly, unsure of why Emily would be looking for the high school yearbook from the year that Joe Henry had come into their lives.

"I was telling Andrew about Mary Louise Jones the other day, and he didn't believe me that we actually called them 'With' and 'Without.'" Emily smiled weakly.

Sam turned around to face her sister, holding up air quotes as she spoke. "Would Mary Louise Jones _With_ a Star please report to the office immediately!" she mimicked their high school principal's stern military tone.

Emily laughed. "It wouldn't have been nearly as funny if Without wasn't such a teacher's pet."

"Don't remind me," Sam groaned. "God, I hated her guts..." She walked towards her closet and motioned for Emily to follow. "If I've still got it, it's in here somewhere."

Sam flipped the light switch and opened the door, stepping into her walk in closet. She ran her hand along the carefully organized row of work suits and noticed, for the first time, how her work clothes far outnumbered her 'other' clothes. At the back corner, she finally reached back and pushed the clothes to either side, revealing the two cardboard boxes that held the only physical remnants of her past.

Sliding one box out from its hiding place, she held it out to Emily. "You take one, and I'll take the other?"

Emily nodded and cast her eyes slowly around the closet, seemingly taking it all in. "You've done really well for yourself, Sam," she commented offhandedly.

Sam bit her tongue and swallowed, giving a tight nod for lack of a verbal response. She let out a small breath and took the other box in her arms. "Let's see what we can find, then."

Taking the boxes out into the bedroom, they sat down on either end of the bed. Sam bent back the cardboard flaps to open the box, and peered inside. It struck her that the entirety of her childhood and early adult years fit into these two boxes in one way or another: a shot glass from a spring break road trip in college, a plastic charm bracelet that her father had given her for her first day of school -- incidentally the very same day that he left them forever, the first guidebook she bought when she moved to New York right after college. And there, at the very bottom of the box, sat the high school yearbook from the one year of her life that she most wished she could erase from her memory.

"Hey," she said, her voice catching in her throat, "I found it." She glanced up at Emily, but Emily was not listening.

Emily was sifting through her box with one hand, her other hand holding something in her lap. "Who's Martin?" She said, looking up. Sam furrowed her eyebrows, confused, and Emily held up a card that she had been holding in her lap. "'Hey College Girl, Get well soon. We all miss you. -Martin' ... What's this from?"

Sam took a deep breath and awkwardly dropped her hand to her thigh as though to cover up the raised scar tissue. "It's, uh ... from work, from a long time ago. There was a hostage situation, and I accidentally got shot," she bit her lip, waiting with baited breath as Emily's face dropped.

"Sam?" She urged softly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam reached across the bed and pulled the other box toward her. "I didn't want to worry you," she whispered, turning her head away.

Emily grabbed Sam's hand, tugging it gently. "Don't lie to me," she implored.

Sam swallowed hard, knowing that the real reason she had not told her sister was because she did not want her to know. Unable to come up with a reasonable answer and unwilling to lie, Sam fought back tears and struggled to regain her composure. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking.

"It's alright, Sam," Emily soothed, scooting closer to her on the bed. "It's just ... how are we ever going to get over the past if we don't talk about it?"

Sam crossed her arms protectively across her chest, her breath pulsing as she considered Emily's words. A comfortable silence fell as she smiled weakly at her sister.

Emily glanced back down into the box. "Hey, is this Renfro?" She lifted a small brown stuffed bear up, cradling it in both hands. "Remember how much you loved this thing? You took it everywhere."

"That's not Renfro..." she trailed off, recalling the case just a few days before the hostage situation and Barry Mashburn.

xxx

_She stood stationary in the middle of the room, rotating her neck in all directions to take in ten year old Jessica Adams' bedroom. It was the kind of bedroom she had dreamed about as a little girl, but her mother would never have been able to afford. The walls were pale pink with a flower print border, a framed poster of ballerinas hanging above the bed. Plush pink pillows lined the window seat along the bay window, while stuffed animals decorated the bookshelves and lined the pillows on the bed._

_Behind her, the door creaked open._

_"Morning, Samantha," Martin said cheerily, holding a cup of coffee close to his chest. "What do we have?"_

_"Jessica Adams, ten years old. Carpool dropped her off at dance rehearsal last night, but the dance instructor says she never saw her. Jack and Viv are at the dance studio right now," she rattled off the details, still rooted to the spot._

_Martin walked up to the bookshelf, picking up a porcelain figurine shaped as a dancer. "This place reminds me of my oldest sister's room," he commented._

_"She danced?" Sam asked, her curiosity piqued by a rare comment about a family member other than his father._

_"Lauren did," he said, carefully putting the figurine back in its place. "Anywhere and everywhere. It was very Angelina Ballerina," he laughed._

_"Angelina who?" she asked, walking up behind him._

_"Angelina Ballerina," he repeated, running his index finger along the titles on the top shelf until he found what he was looking for. He pulled the book off of the shelf and held it out to her. "It was a little bit after our time, but my nieces love it."_

_She studied the book, smiling at the drawings of mice in colored tutus dancing as she flipped the pages. Closing the book and returning it to the shelf, she motioned to the animals lined up along the girl's bed. "This place is a zoo," she joked._

_"What? No favorite stuffed animal when you were younger? I'm shocked!" He teased, his boyish grin showing off his dimples._

_"Hey!" She mocked, "I had this bear that my grandmother gave me. I kept him around for the longest time ... I even ended up bringing him to college with me."_

_"Really?" He said, walking over to the desk and inspecting the contents of its drawers._

_"Yeah, he was the unfortunate casualty of one my freshman roommate's parties."_

_"I'm afraid to ask," he sat down on the wooden desk chair, tilting his head up towards where she stood and waggling his eyebrows suggestively._

_She found herself once again noticing how attractive he looked when he smiled, and she chided herself silently for her thoughts. He was still the inexperienced rookie, she reminded herself, although it was getting harder and harder to use that as an excuse. He consistently was proving himself worthy and capable of his position on the team. "Mmm, yeah," she said, chuckling to herself at the memory. "Katie accidentally set him on fire. The smoke detectors picked it up and we had to evacuate the entire dorm."_

_His eyes widened; this was obviously not the answer he was expecting. "Wow," was all he could muster._

_"It was probably the most exciting party I went to all of freshman year. It was the only one where the cops showed up." She said casually._

_He shook his head and laughed. "There's more to you than meets the eye, Samantha," he joked, turning his attention to their missing person's computer and depressing the power button, the familiar whir coming as the monitor sprung to life._

_She walked up behind him, thinking there just might be more to him than met the eye as well._

xxx

She shook the memory just as she felt the bed dip as Emily got up to answer a knock at the door.

"That'll be Andrew," Emily said, hurrying her steps as she rushed to the door to let her husband in, leaving Sam alone with her thoughts.

A wave of melancholy washed over her, and she fell backwards against the pillows as her posture slackened. The reality hit her like a ton of bricks, pummeling her from both sides with memories of both Emily and Martin, and for the second time that evening, she fought off tears.

Not only did she allow the two most significant relationships in her life to fall completely apart, but in fact, she expedited the process willingly. And she had no one to blame but herself.

xxx


	11. Ten

xxx

_**chapter ten**_

xxx

_and it's all in how you mix the two  
and it starts just where the light exists  
it's a feeling that you cannot miss  
and it burns a hole through everyone that feels it_  
-The Used, "Blue and Yellow"

xxx

_Hi Everyone,_

_First off, thank you for all of your support and encouragement. My family settled into Seattle over the weekend, and we're all doing well. My mom tried to keep me distracted as much as possible with sightseeing. All the normal tourist stuff. She kept us busy: I think she's worried that I'm worrying about everything too much._

_I can't worry, though. I want to do this._

_I'm just glad that all of the work my parents did to track down my biological relatives paid off. Dr. Kent says that transplant success rate is much higher when a blood relative donates, so I have to take that as a good sign._

_Tomorrow morning, I have to check into the hospital so that I can start my pre-transplant induction chemo and radiation. They say the timing will work out really well because by the time I am done with this round of chemo, my donor will be done with the Filgrastim injections._

_It seems strange to call her my donor, since technically she's my aunt too. My aunt who I've never met. When this is all over, I want to go to New York to meet her and my birth mother. I've always known that I was adopted, but I've never been interested in my biological family members before. Now though, I can't help it. The entire rest of my life is determined by genetics. You'd be curious too, I'm sure of it._

_They say blood is thicker than water, right? Well, in my case, blood is thicker than everything._

_And speaking of blood, I have to be up bright and early to get mine drawn tomorrow morning. Let the leeching begin! ;-)_

_I will try to update as often as possible during the transplant to let you know how I am doing. On behalf of my entire family, we appreciate your thoughts and prayers._

_Until next time._

_posted by Randy; 12 Mar 2007 at 9:37 pm_

xxx

Martin heard footsteps behind him and minimized the window, before glancing around and realizing it was only Danny and Elena deep in conversation. They went immediately towards the break room, obviously taking advantage of the fact that no case had come in yet.

He shifted the mouse to hover over the browser window once again, and fought to quell the feeling of guilt that suddenly rose up, as though he were further spying on Sam by reading her nephew's blog. He tapped his fingers nervously against the mouse before depressing the button and bringing the site back up on his computer screen once more.

His internet search for information on bone marrow donation had reminded him of the website on Randy's father's business card, and his curiosity had gotten the best of him before he realized what he was doing. He scanned the website in front of him, giving another once-over to the blog entry that Randy posted the previous evening. He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair before closing the window, silently willing his focus on anything else. He had felt much better, overall, after talking with Ed just two days ago, and getting all of his fear and confusion out in the open.

xxx

_Ed sat across from him in silence for a few minutes, before leaning forward and narrowing his eyes intensely. "What do you mean, you could actually 'see' her?"_

_Martin sighed inwardly and replied, "Samantha is ... she's not like anyone else I've ever known. She doesn't just tell you something about her personal life unless she really wants you to know. She's normally very calculated and deliberate, but this was spontaneous and not like her at all."_

_"And you're wondering what this means for the two of you, after all of this time?" Ed said, nodding._

_"No," Martin shook his head insistently. "I'm wondering why it was me, and not Jack."_

_Ed crossed his arms and leaned back, tilting his head to one side as he replied, "You're friends, you see each other every day. It can't just be that simple?"_

_"It's never that simple with her," Martin admitted, lifting the cup to his lips and taking a long drink. It was not the liquid courage that he needed, but it would have to do. "It's not easy being 'just friends' with Sam when every day I'm reminded of how much I feel like I'm in a bad movie. It's easier to keep my distance, you know? Because if I don't, she'll do something like this and remind me of all the reasons that I fell for her in the first place..." He lowered his eyes, avoiding Ed's intense stare. He silently willed his voice not to break, and continued, "I can't remember the way that felt, because then the reality of the matter hits me: I let myself care about her, and I allowed myself to believe that she cared about me too. But the truth always comes out in the end, and plain and simple, Sam loves Jack. I never even had a chance."_

_Ed coughed and cleared his throat, his eyes wide and his expression empathetic. "Are you sure it has to be that complicated, Martin? After all, she could have told anyone, but she chose you."_

_Martin laughed bitterly and his eyes closed as he shook the overwhelming feeling of his own remorse. "Sam never chose me. It was just like when we first got together: Jack was gone, and I just happened to be there."_

_"Martin," Ed spoke slowly and deliberately, instantly reminding Martin of therapy sessions with Lisa. "I know that this is something that you've been struggling with for awhile now, but you've always had an excuse to push it off to one side. From what I understand, the ambush happened just a few weeks after you ended things with Sam. I think you need to consider the possibility that you never really allowed yourself to get over her..."_

xxx

"Where the hell is everyone else?" Jack called gruffly, abruptly breaking Martin's train of thought. "We've got one."

Martin cast a quick glance over his shoulder, taking in Jack's stiff posture and obvious annoyance that the rest of the team had presently disbanded. Thinking better of talking back, Martin stood from his chair and walked to the DOD board, where Jack was pinning up the picture of a smiling young woman holding a toddler.

"Deirdre Fuller, 28, and her daughter Ella, 2. Fiancé called it in this morning, says they never made it home last night," Jack rattled off the basic details of the case before sighing in frustration. "Where the hell _is_ everyone?" he repeated, eyeing Martin intently.

Martin crossed his arms and shrugged his shoulders before replying, "Danny and Elena are in the break room, I have no idea where Viv is, and," he paused, glancing down at his watch, "It's not 10:00 yet, so I'd assume that's why Sam isn't in."

"Oh, right," Jack said absent-mindedly. "She's got that transplant stuff."

"Yeah, pretreatment for the bone marrow donation. She has to get the Filgrastim injections every day this week," Martin interjected. "I think it's a good thing that she can do PBSC. It's supposed to make it easier on the donor as far as recovery time."

"PBSC?" Jack questioned, taking a black marker and beginning to put what little information he had about the case up on the Day of Disappearance outline.

"Yeah, instead of the actual surgical procedure." Martin explained, matter-of-factly. In spite of the peace he had felt after his conversation with Ed over the weekend, the fact remained that he still cared about her, and he worried about her own health and the risks that bone marrow donation might pose to her. He had been relieved to discover just how much safer the peripheral blood cell transplant seemed to be. As far as what he understood, it seemed no more dangerous than donating blood.

Jack sighed. "Alright, well why don't you start working on phone records and bank statements; when Sam gets in, she can help you out."

Jack's body language signaled that the conversation was over, but he made no effort to move. Martin studied his boss cautiously, considering his slightly erratic behavior since returning from Kenosha with Sam. Suddenly, it dawned on him that Sam had not simply chosen to confide in him because he was there. Jack knew, too; there was no other explanation. Jack gave only vague details of what had happened in Kenosha because he _knew_, and he thought he was protecting her.

But putting the pieces together, Sam had given no such indication that she wanted that protection. She may love Jack, but Jack had apparently forgotten that Sam was an independent woman who insisted upon making her own decisions. He bit his tongue, knowing it must be tearing her up inside to try to juggle her desire independence and her feelings for Jack.

He forced a tight smile and exhaled, not wanting to dwell on thoughts of Sam and Jack any longer.

"Yes?" Jack said curtly, and Martin realized that he had been staring awkwardly into space.

He turned his body to face Jack head on. "Nothing," he crossed his arms and frowned. "But really, she was fourteen. She found him raping her older sister. Did you honestly think that they would have incarcerated her?"

Jack narrowed his eyes, not quite hiding the mix of surprise and hostility in his voice. "She told you?"

Martin sighed and rubbed his chin, replying in kind, "I kind of got the impression that she wanted to tell _everyone_."

Jack did not acknowledge this last statement, and instead turned and left without another word.

xxx

Less than an hour later, Martin sat with his head bent over several stacks of credit card statements and bank records. For someone who was barely making her rent payments each month, Deirdre Fuller certainly had a lot of credit cards.

He heard the slow click of a woman's heals echoing behind him, and cast a glance over his shoulder just in time to see Sam approach, smiling weakly as she said, "Hey, what do you have?"

"Deirdre Fuller and her daughter Ella never came home last night. Fiancé called it in," he explained. "Want a stack of credit card statements?"

Sam eyed the stacks laid out in front of him and raised her eyebrows in jest, "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really," he smiled and pushed one of the stacks towards her as she sat down. "But I can simplify it for you if you want: I'd put money on the motive being related to debt. No pun intended."

Sam laughed, glancing down at the files in front of her. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah," he leaned forward to prop his head up on his elbow. "She's knee deep in credit card bills, and I can't figure out where she's getting the money to make minimum payments each month. Find the source, and my guess is we'll figure out what happened to her."

Sam nodded, and he noticed her wince subtly as she rotated her neck.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "It's just side effects of the Filgrastim." She paused, and her eyes locked with his in a gaze that sent shivers down his spine. "I expected to be a little sore... I just didn't know that it would hurt this much."

xxx


	12. Eleven

xxx

_**chapter eleven**_

xxx

_'cause love doesn't hurt  
so i know i'm not falling in love  
i'm just falling to pieces_  
-Anna Nalick, "Wreck of the Day"

xxx

_Sam ran through the familiar woods near the trailer park in Kenosha, the dry leaves crunching beneath her feet with every step. It was winter: the trees were bare, the wind stung her cheeks as it whipped through. Everything around her was dark and dead, and there was no sign of life anywhere in sight._

_She kept running and running and running until ..._

_CRACK._

_She tripped and fell forward, landing awkwardly in a pile of leaves on the cold ground. She untangled her upper limbs and tried to hoist herself up off the ground, only to fall forward once again, unable to support her own weight. She winced and cried out in pain._

_It was then that she noticed the dark red blood seeping through her jeans and onto the ground before her: she was bleeding profusely, and her leg was obviously broken._

_As she struggled to get up and keep going, her eyes landed behind her on the object that had caused her to trip. It was a shovel that she knew extremely well; after all, it was __**her**__ shovel, and she had refused to touch it since she was fourteen years old._

_She heard a rustling of leaves, and Jack stepped out from behind a cluster of trees._

_"Jack!" She cried out. "Help me!"_

_Jack walked forward, but remained silent._

_"Help me, please!" She insisted with more urgency. "I have to get to Randy in time."_

_He leaned forward and picked up her up, but then turned to walk back in another direction woods. She fought him adamantly, yelling that she had to go back towards the cabin and to where Randy was, but it did no good._

_He reached the clearing and placed Sam on the ground._

_"Jack!" She cried out. "You were supposed to help me."_

_He gazed down to where she sat and replied, "This did not happen. It's over. You don't have to worry about it anymore."_

_He said nothing more._

_"Help me!" she cried in desperation. "Someone help me! Emily! Martin!"_

_"Anyone?!"_

_She once again tried to stand but could not even get up on her knees. Her body shook, paralyzed with fear, when she realized that she was not sitting on just any ground in any clearing._

_This was where she had buried Joe Henry._

_She cried out desperately as darkness began to settle around her..._

xxx

In New York City, Sam woke with a start. She shot up in bed, her heart pounding in her chest at warp speed as she gasped for breath. She threw off the bed spread, feeling clammy all over, and flung her legs over the side of the bed.

An intense wave of nausea hit her like a ton of bricks, and she ran quickly to the bathroom. She held her head over the toilet and wretched several times, but it was nothing but dry heaves.

She cradled her head in her hands, not caring that her elbows were propped up on the porcelain seat of her toilet, and quietly waited for the nausea to pass. Her legs weak and her joints aching, she finally rose to steady herself in front of her bathroom sink. She turned the tap and splashed cool water on her face.

She shuffled back into bed before allowing herself to check the clock on her bedside table: 3:27 AM. Fantastic.

She rolled over onto her side and tried to get comfortable, but she began to toss and turn and sleep would not come. She shifted again, using the whole bed in an attempt to find a position where she could minimize the discomfort and soreness that plagued her entire body.

But in the end, it was the disquiet that plagued her mind that would keep her awake.

This was the fourth night in a row that she'd had a variation on the same nightmare, and she could neither shake the haunting images from her mind nor decipher their meaning. But though she did not understand what the dream meant, it did not take a degree in psychology to connect the day she had donated bone marrow to the day the nightmares first started.

As she tossed and turned and tried in vain to get comfortable, she felt an undeniable sense of foreboding settle over her. She could no longer write it off as a side effect of marrow donation, now four days removed. The nausea, fatigue, and soreness were all decreasing and becoming more bearable, but every night, the dreams were getting worse.

An eerie feeling settled around her as she lay in bed and tried to make sense of the images flashing across her mind's eye. The most overwhelming image was that of the look on Jack's face, cold and final, as he left her alone at the edge of the clearing; her mind spun in endless circles as she tried to decide with certainty what it all meant.

When she was brutally honest with herself, she realized just how furious she was with Jack for the way he butted in and prevented her from coming forward with the truth, once and for all. Though she was grateful that she did not have to deal with the fallout of the legal circus that would have ensued, that appreciation ran only deep enough to keep her emotions in check, especially after she broke down and told Martin everything.

A long time ago, she vowed to never let another man get close enough to know the deepest, darkest secrets of her past. What surprised her was that she had expected Jack to be the one who would support her, as he had so many dark secrets of his own. And when she had been least expecting it, she let her guard down when the impulse to confide in someone of her own free will was too great to overcome. The overwhelming relief at having confided in Martin came as a surprise, after having spent such tremendous amounts of energy in the past to keep him in the dark for fear that he would see her for who she really was and hate her for it.

But instead, he had looked up at her with his blue eyes full of intensity and deep emotion that she could not quite place, and he had listened to her without passing judgment, much in the same way he had first asked her about Jack.

And telling him felt as though she had lifted a weight from her shoulders, confusing her more than ever. She could still feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins when she realized what she had done, all of her carefully planned logic and rationale tossed to one side. After all, Martin was not supposed to be allowed near the dark corners of her heart, and the one man who was, was not supposed to treat it was such disregard.

These thoughts still plagued her mind as she succumbed to a light, restless sleep an hour later.

xxx

When she awoke later that same morning, the sun was shining brightly, seeping in through the cracks in her bedroom curtains. She yawned and stretched, and the sunlight stung her eyes, the side effects of her fitful slumber.

As she sat up in bed and massaged the sore muscles in the back of her neck, she glanced at the clock to discover that it was well past 10:00. She shivered as she rose from the bed, the drafty air in her apartment hitting the bare skin on her arms. She padded into the kitchen and opened the first set of cabinets. She leaned against the counter and reached up, retrieving the first glass her hand came in contact with. She felt tired and achy and desperately craved her morning coffee, but her doctors had advised her to eat healthily and keep well hydrated until she was feeling at one hundred percent. So instead she pressed the glass against the filter set in her refrigerator, listening as the ice maker whirred to life and a few cubes fell into her glass with a clinking noise. She then slid the control to 'water' and waited until the glass filled.

As she raised the glass to her lips and began to sip, her eyes fell on the few memos she had tacked up on her otherwise bare refrigerator door. In particular, they focused in on the business card that her brother in law and left for her when Andrew and Emily had come to dinner just over a week ago.

xxx

_Sam bustled around her kitchen while she waited for the coffee to brew, setting out three mugs by the coffee maker and then immediately moving to wipe off the rest of the counter top._

_Just as the coffee as almost ready, she heard soft footsteps behind her and turned around to see Andrew enter the kitchen._

_"Hey," he said, motioning his hand towards the dirty dishes in the sink. "Can I do anything to help?"_

_"No. I think I've got it covered, but thanks," she shook her head and smiled awkwardly. She swallowed and inhaled and said, "Listen, Andrew, I know we didn't exactly start off in the best of terms, and I know most of that is my fault. But I would really like to make things right. I know it's important ... to Emily."_

_Andrew nodded seriously and said, "Yes, it is. And I'm sorry too. I'll admit that I wasn't exactly receptive to meeting you after what happened ... with our wedding. But now that she's told me the whole story, I understand why you both drifted apart..."_

_He trailed off, and Sam narrowed her eyes as she breathed in. She felt the remorse tug at her heart at the mention of Emily and Andrew's wedding. She had ripped up the invitation instantly upon receiving it and had ignored every one of Emily's calls, having no intention of being present at her sister's wedding when Emily had been one of the major factors in the downfall of her own marriage._

_But years later, her own bitterness no longer seemed as important and she regretted not going._

_"Anyway," Andrew said, stepping forward to help her pour the coffee, "I just wanted to say thank you for everything you've done for us. Making sure you found her safely, and now with the transplant ... It means a lot, to both of us."_

_"Really," she insisted quietly, "It's no big deal. I have a lot of vacation time built up."_

_Andrew leaned back against the counter, holding his mug in one hand and crossing his arms, "Still, it means a lot... I don't know much about the transplant process, but Emily did say that it's less invasive."_

_Sam placed the other two mugs back down on the counter top, wiping her hands on her sides as she explained matter-of-factly, "Yeah, it's a pretty new procedure from what I've been told, but it's been proven just as effective between blood relatives... It's called peripheral blood stem cell transplant. I'll get something called filgrastim every day next week to increase white blood cell production. After five days I'll go through apheresis. They take blood from a vein in one arm, filter out the blood forming cells that they need, and then transplant the rest of the blood back into my other arm. The doctor at the transplant center said that it's basically like donating platelets at the blood bank."_

_"That's good," Andrew replied with a nod, reaching into the back pocket of his slacks and pulling out a business card. "I know you already have Emily's cell number," he said as he placed the card underneath a magnet on her refrigerator, "But here's my contact information. Don't hesitate to call either one of us if you need anything, Samantha."_

_Sam smiled as he took a second mug from her and headed back into the living room to sit on the sofa beside Emily._

xxx

As Sam stood at the doorway of her kitchen, she glanced back to the living room and recalled the ease between Emily and Andrew as they sat on her sofa that night. She had watched surreptitiously as they seemed just as comfortable sharing quiet conversation as they did when they were sitting in silence. It struck a chord somewhere deep within her that in spite of her initial impression, Andrew seemed to be a good guy who made her sister happy, and maybe that was the most important thing.

Her own track record with relationships was nothing more than an extension of the string of bad relationships she had grown up around: her own parents' short-lived marriage and endless fighting, her mother's constant string of boyfriends who were never around much, Emily and Joe Henry. Then there was her own short-lived marriage, her affair with Jack, a few scattered men who barely merit mentioning, and Martin, who simply defied every one of her rules for relationships that had previously been set in stone. Her previous relationships not outlasting five months, the nine months she spent with Martin had seemed a lifetime in comparison.

She wondered at how Emily and Andrew had been married for ten years, a feat that seemed near impossible to her, until she realized that she had been looking at relationships through a cracked lens for all these years.

Complicated was almost never better. And maybe, in fact, love was not inherently supposed to hurt.

xxx


	13. Twelve

xxx

_**chapter twelve**_

xxx

_tremble with a sigh  
glitter in your eye  
you seem to come and go  
i never seem to know  
_

_and all my time  
is yours as much as mine  
we never have enough  
time to show our love_  
-Ride, "Vapour Trail"

xxx

"Okay, I think I've got something," Viv said over her shoulder from where she sat at her desk. She turned to look at him, waiving her hand in motion as he rose to stand behind her. He peered over her shoulder at the computer screen, and his eyes quickly scanned the information in front of him as she began to explain, "The name Kurt McCarthy that came up as the last number on Alexander's cell phone before he got into the cab after the party is actually one of Bill Maier's aliases. Maier has been heavily linked to GATA Highlanders for the better part of two years now."

Martin turned his body and leaned his back against the desk, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before asking, "The GATA Highlanders? Isn't that a group that passes themselves off as similar to the Nomads?"

Vivian nodded, casting a quick glance at the computer screen before continuing. "Yeah, that's the one. But they've been under surveillance by Domestic Terrorism for about thirteen months after being linked to a couple of ultra-right wing groups involved in attempted abortion clinic bombings." Vivian shifted in her chair and added, "I'm on my way to meet with Agent Williams, who has been heading up the investigation."

Vivian stood, pushing the chair back beneath her desk, and began to collect the files and paperwork that lay in front of her. She held the files in one hand and tucked her hair behind her ear with the other. He was still standing, leaning his back against her desk when she stopped in her tracks and turned around, a warm smile replacing the stern, business-like tone of their prior conversation. "Martin," she started, her tone now motherly and encouraging, "I know things have been pretty busy around here and we haven't had a chance to stop and catch our breath... But if you ever want to talk about it, you know you can come to me, right?"

"Of course," he returned her smile and exhaled, crossing his arms protectively over his chest.

She gave a small nod in affirmation and then turned and walked swiftly down the hallway, the click of her heels echoing behind her. And Martin found himself left alone in the bullpen with no leads to follow up on and nothing but his wandering thoughts to keep him occupied.

He shifted his weight forward and shuffled back across to his own desk to sit down. After several minutes of aimlessly rearranging several stacks of cell phone records and credit card statements, he allowed his thoughts to wander back to what Vivian had just said, extremely touched by her sentiments. Of all of his teammates, she was the one with whom he had felt the most consistently connected to during his time in Missing Persons. She was the first to really accept him in the beginning, offering him frank and honest advice to guide him through those rough first months before the others would fully take him seriously. And though at times he felt closer to Danny or Sam, those friendships included rocky moments that, barring the Reyes case, he and Vivian generally avoided.

It was just like Vivian to be worried about him during a time when she likely had no extra thoughts or energy to spare, but did so anyway. And her concern did not surprise him; even before her heart surgery a few years ago, she had always been more worried about the rest of the team than about herself...

_Vivian's door opened before him to reveal her teenage son Reggie, whom Martin had met on a few occasions._

_"Hi, Reggie," he greeted. "I'm here to see your mom."_

_"Hey, Agent Fitzgerald," Reggie replied politely, waiving him inside and shutting the door behind them. "My mom's in the kitchen. She told me you were going to stop by."_

_He followed Reggie through the hallway and into the kitchen, where Vivian sat at the counter reading a magazine and sipping tea from a large mug beside her._

_"Mom," Reggie said. "Agent Fitzgerald is here."_

_"Thanks, Reg," Vivian replied, looking up from her magazine. "Have you finished your English homework?"_

_"Yes, Mom." Reggie rolled his eyes and quickly made his way out of the kitchen, anxious to avoid further nagging about his homework._

_Martin laughed at her son's quickly retreating figure before turning to take in Vivian's appearance. She had risen from the stool to refill her mug, her bare feet padding across the linoleum kitchen floor. She was wearing a navy blue robe wrapped tightly around her and, although she was obviously trying to keep a high appearance of normalcy, the bluish tinge to her lips matched that of her robe._

_"How are you doing, Martin?" She asked, sitting back down and patting the counter for him to sit next to her._

_"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He said dryly as he obliged and took a seat on the stool as she had motioned._

_Vivian shrugged and folded a napkin in half before placing it down on the magazine in front of her, marking her place._

_Leaning forward, Martin peered down at the open page of the magazine and exclaimed, emphatically, "Don't tell me you've started reading tabloids!"_

_Vivian laughed and closed the magazine so that he could see the cover. "It's In Style, thank you very much. I don't usually read it, but Marcus has been bringing home magazines that students leave in the library at work because he's afraid that I'm getting bored and restless."_

_Martin shifted his weight back to the stool and rested an elbow against the counter top. "And are you?" Off her look, he continued. "Getting bored and restless, that is."_

_Vivian raised her eyebrows suggestively and said, "Well, I'm reading In Style. Am I not?"_

_Martin chuckled. "Touché."_

_Putting the magazine to one side and taking a long sip from her mug, she said, "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?"_

_"I'm fine, but thank you," he replied. He paused in silence for a few moments before collecting himself enough to ask, "How are you feeling, Viv?"_

_"Okay," she said resignedly. "Some days are better than others, but I'm trying to keep myself busy to take my mind off of it. I think Reggie bears the brunt of that, though. He wants this over as much as I do just so that I can stop nagging him about his homework." Vivian laughed softly at her own dark humor._

_Martin reached out to touch her arm lightly and said, "Well, we miss you at work. Any idea how long your recovery time will be?"_

_Shaking her head, Vivian began to rattle off the facts as they had been explained to her. "It could be anywhere from a couple of weeks to a couple of months, they really have no way of knowing. It's fairly invasive, but they my doctor says the fact that I'm young is a good sign. After that, they will continue to monitor me to make sure I don't still have the irregular heart beat. It's called atrial fibrillation." Vivian looked pensive as she paused, breathing deeply and closing her eyes, showing vulnerability for the first time since he had walked in the door. "If they can't fix that, it means I will probably have to be on blood thinners indefinitely. And that's the best case scenario."_

_Martin sat intensely still, his own heart pounding in his ears as he took in her words in eerie silence. For the first time, he realized just how serious Vivian's condition was. And as reality sunk in around him, he stretched out his fingers, willing the pins and needles sensation in his neck to dissolve without much luck._

_"Martin --" Vivian began. This time it was her hand that reached out, softly resting on his forearm. "I've been meaning to apologize to you." He looked up at her, incredulously, wondering what she could possibly have to apologize for. Lowering her eyes, she explained, "I'm sorry I asked Sam not to say anything about this to you. When she saw the Holter monitor, I panicked... I wasn't ready for anyone to know yet. I didn't want you to think any less of me."_

_Not fully able to process what she was saying, Martin instinctively replied, "I could never think any less of you."_

_Sighing deeply, Vivian shrugged her shoulders. "I just ... Don't blame her; she was only respecting my wishes. I would hate for the two of you to fight because of me."_

_Martin bit his lower lip cautiously and weighed out his response. "Vivian," he said finally. "Sam and I have plenty of other things to fight about. Believe me. We're both just worried about you."_

_Vivian curled her lips upward in a weak, knowing smile. "Alright. But still, I'm sorry. I know you two are close, and I don't want to get in the way of that."_

_Boxing off the part of his heart that grew tight with regret at any mention of Samantha, he replied earnestly, "Vivian, you could never get in the way of anything."_

xxx

By 4:30 that evening, Agent Williams' team in Domestic Terrorism had taken over their missing persons case, which had turned out to be far more complicated than just a simple, misguided young man who had gotten mixed up in the wrong crowd. After Jack had announced that they could leave as soon as they finished their case reports, the rest of the team decided that getting off early on a Friday afternoon obviously constituted going out for pizza as soon as they were let free. Not entirely knowing what he was doing, he had left a message on Sam's voice mail telling her to join them if she was feeling up to it.

When Elena and Danny both rose to announce that they had finished, Martin still had several files left to review, and told them as much.

With a cautious smile, Danny suggested that he and Elena would go on ahead and get a table for them, and Martin shared a knowing smirk with Vivian. He recognized the mischievous twinkle in Vivian's eyes, having been on the receiving end of such looks when he had been with Samantha. As Danny and Elena began to collect up their things, they asked if there were any pizza preferences. But before Martin could answer, he felt the familiar buzzing of his cell phone in his pocket and held out his hand to motion for them to wait while he answered.

"Fitzgerald," he uttered into the receiver, not stopping to check the caller ID.

"Hey, Martin," Samantha's voice echoed through the other line. "I just got your message. I turned my phone off while I was at the doctors."

"Of course," he replied, surprised that she called him back. "Did that go alright?"

"Yeah, it did. They say my blood counts are close enough to normal now that I can come back to work on Monday if I feel like it."

"That's great," he said, and he ignored the strange looks he was getting from his three co-workers.

"Anyway," Sam began, "I just wanted to know when you were all headed over. If you're all still finishing up at the office, I don't mind going on ahead and grabbing a table before it gets too crowded."

Laughing quietly, he replied, "Danny and Elena are on their way over now to get a table."

He heard the chuckle in her voice as well as she said, "Always one step ahead... Anyway, I guess I'll see you all there."

"Sure," he grinned. "See you there."

As he closed his phone, Martin tried to ignore the way Danny's eyes narrowed suspiciously as his friend asked, "So, Sam is going to meet us there? Is she feeling better?"

"She sounds like she's doing well," he answered simply, busying himself at his computer.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder and he shifted around so that he was facing Elena. Her hands on her hips, she asked, "So, any pizza preferences? Or do you actually trust Danny to make the order on his own?"

Martin laughed and leaned back, stretching his arms tiredly as a thought played in his mind. Remembering the day Sam had admitted to her irrational childhood fear of tomatoes, he made his suggestion. "See if they have white pizza."

As Elena turned to leave, he swore he heard Danny muttering to himself that pizza clearly could not be pizza without tomato sauce, while Elena chided him that he did not have to eat it if he did not want to. Martin shook his head bemusedly and returned his focus to the case report in front of him, suddenly looking forward to the evening ahead immensely.

xxx


	14. Thirteen

xxx

_**chapter thirteen**_

xxx

_the road is long, the memory slides  
to the whole of my undoing  
put aside, i put away  
i push it back to get through each day_

_and all i feel is black and white  
and i'm wound up small and tight  
and i don't know who i am_  
-Sarah McLachlan, "Black & White"

xxx

Samantha ran her hand through her hair as she pushed through the turnstile and quickly climbed the steps, exiting the subway station. She blinked rapidly, the sunlight stinging her eyes, as she made her way through the late Friday afternoon crowds and down the street.

There was a nervous bounce in her step as she walked the two blocks from the subway station to the small Italian restaurant where the team was meeting for dinner. Martin's invitation had taken her by surprise, but the instant she heard him speak over her voice mail, she knew she would accept. She had spent far too many hours alone with her thoughts over the course of the past week, and ecstatic from her transplant coordinator's go-ahead to return to work, she was eager to spend some time with her colleagues outside of the work environment. It had been far too long since she had willingly spent time maintaining her inter-office friendships.

But still, now that the only thing that stood between her and the evening with her friends was the traffic signal that read "Don't Walk" in flashing neon red lettering, she had to fight the waves of anxiety that settled across her stomach.

The crowd around her began to push forward across the crosswalk as the traffic signal changed from red to green. She took a breath and began to walk alongside the crowd, stepping carefully back up on the sidewalk and eyeing the glass windows of the restaurant as she approached. A small bell chimed as she swung the door open and stepped inside, her eyes scanning the tables until she found Danny and Elena, sitting close together at a round table set for five people. They were deep in conversation as Sam waived politely in acknowledgement to the hostess and coughed to clear her throat as she approached the table, finally causing Danny and Elena to look up.

Taking off her jacket, she hung it over the back of the seat on the other side of Elena and sat down. Shifting her weight forward and leaning against the table, she asked, "How long have you two been here?"

"Not too long," Elena bit her bottom lip and dropped her hand down under the table. "We just put in the order about five minutes ago."

Danny lifted his glass with a vigorous shake and mumbled, "Would have been here sooner if it weren't for our incompetent cab driver." He looked over at Elena, who smiled and laughed as she fingered her napkin. Her eyes shone brightly at him, obviously having overcome whatever issues were previously between them in the wake of Sofie's abduction. Danny leaned over and whispered something in a hushed voice that made Elena's smile widen, and Sam glanced away, pretending not to listen.

Sam's eyes scanned the restaurant, a small, comfortable family restaurant with red checkered tablecloths and tiny lamp-shaped candle holders in the middle of each table. Most of the tables were, at this point, occupied by young families with small children, chatting happily among themselves.

Her gaze fell on one family in particular, sitting in a booth in the back corner close to the kitchen door. The husband and wife looked as though they were no older than she herself was. The father sat on one side of the booth with a young girl of about four with curly brown hair and blue eyes, and across from them, the mother sat with their brown-haired toddler son of no more than two. The girl leaned in close to her father's side, hugging him tightly and giggling as he reached to tickle her; the toddler stood, still shaky on his feet, and began to dance in place, bobbing up and down delightedly. The mother leaned across the table to say something to her young daughter, who shook her head and laughed happily in turn, and the husband's hand reached out to take hold of his wife's hand and lifted it up with an affectionate squeeze.

There was something calm and peaceful about the happiness of this family that touched Sam, making her feel immensely and irrevocably sad. Her eyes remained transfixed upon the young family, continuing to watch until the waitress brought the food over to the table and husband and wife finally broke contact as plates were set down in front of them.

Finally tearing her gaze away, she picked up her glass of ice water and rotated her wrist, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass. She raised the glass to her lips and sipped eagerly, allowing the cool liquid to coat her throat as she swallowed. Her head felt fuzzy and warm, confusion washing over her as she wondered at the young family that had captured her attention. For although she had never seen herself as a mother and would vehemently deny any thoughts of having children, she suddenly did not understand the logic behind her own reasoning.

xxx

_A warm shiver ran down her spine as she felt Martin's hand along her back, guiding her inside O'Leary's Pub on the Upper West Side. It was about as upscale as you could get for a pub, and it fit the upscale neighborhood to a T. It was exactly the type of bar she would have pictured Martin as frequenting -- not that she often thought about what Martin did outside of work, of course._

_But nevertheless, her skin tingled through her clothes at the pleasant burning sensation of his touch as they shuffled through the crowds to an empty booth towards the back of the dimly-lit room. Folk music with pop lyrics and fiddle accompaniment blared in the background and she cautioned a look at the wide dimpled grin across Martin's face._

_She sat down slowly in the wooden booth, choosing the side that would put her back to the door and effectively allow her to hide herself away from the rest of the world. Her face contorted slightly as a twinge of pain shot down her thigh, and she balled up her fists and cursed silently. She was not certain if the random, occasional sharp pains or the persistent lingering soreness irritated her more, at this point._

_"And what can be I gettin' for you there, lass?" Martin said in a mock Irish brogue that did not work for him at all but made her laugh in spite of herself._

_Biting her lower lip and fighting a full grin, she craned her neck and said dryly, "Aren't you supposed to have a few in you already before you deteriorate into bad accents and pick up lines?" He shook his head bemusedly, and she leaned over to reach for her purse to retrieve her wallet._

_He gently grabbed her elbow before she could undo the metal clasp that opened her leather handbag. Abandoning the fake accent, he tugged her forearm until she sat upright once again and said insistently, "What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't treat to at least one round?"_

_Telling herself that she was giving in easily only because she did not have the energy to argue, she nodded slowly. "I'll have a martini," she requested, craving the comfort of her usual drink of choice._

_"Sure," he said, turning on his heels and heading off to the bar to place their order. When he returned a few minutes later with their drinks, she asked what he was having and noted with surprise that he had ordered a scotch for himself._

_Scotch was the type of drink that men who were dark and brooding would order, the type of drink that Jack might order on the rare occasion that they had hid together in the dark back corner of some tacky bar well across town, hidden safely away from anyone they knew. It was not the drink that she would have expected from a man who seemed nothing but dimpled grins and encouraging words that she was coming to appreciate in the time since she had been recovering from the shooting. And it was another layer to Martin Fitzgerald that was beginning to pique her interest._

_After all, she told herself, he had been a good friend to her._

_"So," he said, sliding into the seat across the table and taking a drink, "Did you really mean what you said earlier about not wanting kids in this world?" He paused for a moment and arched his eyebrows, looking instantly nervous and wondering if he had begun their conversation by prying into something far too personal. His tongue jutted out between his lips and he bit down on it, pausing for a beat before quipping. "I mean, in what world would you want them? Or would you have to move galaxies?"_

_Sam laughed quietly, hiding her nerves behind the rim of her glass and forcing the memory of her terminated pregnancy from a lifetime ago back to the dark corners of her mind where it belonged. Lowering her eyes she said, "It's just not something that I've ever really wanted for myself. My relationships are complicated enough without bringing children into them..." She paused to take another long drink, allowing it to wash her throat as liquid courage. Placing the glass down on the wooden table top for emphasis, she said, "Besides, I could never wish a relationship like the one I have with my mother on my worst enemy, let alone a child that would be my own flesh and blood." She exhaled and flattened her palms against the edge of the table before looking up again, "Why are you so sure that you want kids?"_

_Martin was silent as he took in her explanation and carefully chose his response, and she wished that she could read his facial expression. "I've always wanted to have a family, for as long as I can remember." He rubbed his chin slowly and his blue eyes remained unreadable as he said, "But there's still time for you to change your mind... My older sister Alice went through a phase where she swore she wanted to be a nun; now she's happily married and has two daughters. Her youngest, Emma, just celebrated her first birthday three weeks ago."_

_"A nun? Really?" She laughed incredulously._

_Martin smirked mischievously and replied, "Do you honestly think I could make this up?"_

_Sam leaned back into her seat, relaxed and still laughing, the impending OPR review long-since forgotten._

xxx

"Look who we managed to drag out of the office!" Sam heard Vivian exclaim from just behind her. Rotating her neck, she saw Jack loom just behind where Vivian and Martin stood.

Elena immediately stood up from her seat. "Jack! I'll go ask someone if we can pull up another chair."

While Jack stood awkwardly to one side, appearing uncomfortable, Vivian slipped into the empty seat next to Danny, and Martin sat down in the chair between Sam and Vivian. Elena quickly returned with an extra chair and a set of silverware, and following closely behind her was the waitress, carrying their dinner order. Elena set the chair down, and Sam found herself once again forced between Jack and Martin, although this time not of her own doing. This time though, there was no choice for her to make; still furious with Jack, she scooted her chair just enough that there was acceptable space separating them.

Once the six were settled at the table, the waitress began to place their pizzas down in front of them, but Sam was not listening until she placed the last one down between herself and Martin with the announcement that it was white pizza.

White pizza? This could only mean one thing: Martin. She had never known any of her other co-workers to prefer white pizza, and Martin was the only one who knew about her childhood fear of any food that contained tomatoes.

It was something so simple, so mundane, and yet in this moment, it meant everything to her.

In the past when she had a choice between Jack and Martin, she would hem and haw indecisively, her decision coming in her failure to come to a solitary conclusion and stick to it. She clung to the ghost of what she thought she shared with Jack while ignoring the reality of the simple and honest nature of what she did share with Martin.

At one point he had looked at her with hope shining in his clear blue eyes as he broached the possibility of new feelings coming into play, and he had been right. Being with him introduced her to new feelings that she had not previously known existed, feelings that even now she did not fully understand.

But now there was a difference. Because while he had been right that day several years before, she had been too.

Old feelings don't die, they fade. And if you're not careful, they will creep back up on you when you least expect them.

xxx


	15. Fourteen

xxx

_**chapter fourteen**_

xxx

_blind times, thought we were matching weight  
we pulled, sometimes it was you and sometimes it was me  
_

_but where are we  
you say, "don't take it all so hard for now --  
there's so much space  
and there will always be later for that"_  
-Trespassers William, "Matching Weight"

xxx

"Oh! Oh! Okay, I've gone one!"

Martin tilted his neck and laughed bemusedly as his cousin Allison tried to chew and speak at the same time. While she held up a hand and made motions as though she had nearly finished swallowing, Uncle Roger patted her on the back and said in his best fatherly voice, "Easy there, Al. Don't choke."

"Thanks, Dad," Allison rolled her eyes sarcastically and took a long drink from her glass of water. Setting her glass back down on the table, she pursed her lips together before beginning her story. "Remember how each New Year's she'd buy us all journals and tell us how each day, we were going to write down one goal and one thing we were thankful for..."

"Oh, yeah," Jamie smiled, putting her fork down on her now-empty plate. "We hated it. In hindsight it was a nice idea, but I don't think we ever made it past January 5th. We'd always get too busy." There was a far-away look in Jamie's eyes as she fiddled absent-mindedly with the napkin that lay in front of her. "I kind of wish we still had them now; it would be kind of nice to see what Mom was thinking all those years ago," she said wistfully.

The room went silent with the exception of an occasional noise from the next room where four year old Ava was watching a movie; Aunt Bonnie's ghost loomed on the horizon of all of their minds. It was a Thursday night, and though it was unusual for Martin to drive out to the Toland's on a weeknight, tonight it had been necessary. It was Bonnie's birthday, and he did not want to be alone.

Bonnie's death left a gaping hole in his heart from which he may never fully recover, and still a few years later, he could not talk about her openly without choking up.

So while Jamie began to relay the story of the time Bonnie chaperoned her eighth grade class trip, he crossed his arms and shifted his upper body forward to lean his elbows against the table. Unable to properly verbalize his own lingering grief, he opted to remain silent instead.

xxx

His fingers began to shrivel up, taking on a prune-like appearance as he continued to hold the dinner plates under the running tap in the kitchen sink, scrubbing furiously. He worked the last remnants of dinner from the plate in his hand and, without looking, reached to one side where the dish towel was resting on the counter top.

His fingertips came in contact unexpectedly with cool wood instead and, turning his body quizzically, Jamie's lopsided smile greeted him in return, holding up the dish towel in question.

Taking the plate from his hand, his cousin began to rub the plate down to dry it and, putting it down on the drying rack emphatically, said, "If you are going to ignore Dad and do the dishes anyway, I figure I might as well help you."

Martin picked up a few pieces of silverware and lifted them under the stream of water. He inhaled and replied dryly, "Admit it: you just don't want to look bad."

Jamie tapped his shoulder lightly, laughing and holding up her hands in mock defeat. "Guilty as charged." Her hands fell to his forearm, tugging lightly and forcing him to drop the silverware into the sink. Her voice grew hushed and intense as she said, "You know, Marty, we know how important Mom was to you, too. Just because you're her nephew and not her son doesn't mean you weren't any less important to her, or make your feelings any less real."

He looked at her with sad eyes, as though he wanted to say 'What do you mean?' but couldn't find the words.

"You were pretty quiet at dinner." Jamie dropped both of her hands down to her sides and idly wiped them against the legs of her pants.

Martin worked his tongue against the side of his cheek, biting down slightly with his teeth. He lowered his eyes and quietly said, "Did I ever tell you that she was the main reason I got up the courage to tell my dad I wanted to work for the Bureau?"

Jamie dropped the dish towel back down on the countertop, her hands on her hips and confusion etched across her forehead, as he began to explain.

_As was the case on any Friday night, Mr. Bartley's Burger Cottage was alive and jam-packed full of students ready for a night off from studies and school work. Aunt Bonnie had called him up two weeks ago, saying that Uncle Roger was going to take the girls out of town for the weekend on a father-daughters trip before Jamie graduated from high school and would he be up for a visit, and this was the first place he had thought to take her when she arrived in Cambridge. His parents had only come to visit once in his three years of college, and they had insisted on taking him out to one of the fanciest restaurants in Boston. But when Aunt Bonnie came to visit, he wanted her to see all of the things he loved most about college, and from the political cartoons on the walls to the ridiculous burger toppings to the juke box in the corner, Bonnie already seemed to be as fond of the burger joint as he was._

_Martin bit off the end of an onion ring, chewing pensively. "I promise I won't tell Dad that you ordered the Michael Dukakis burger."_

_Bonnie laughed heartily and took a sip of her black and white frappe. "Good. I'd hate for my annoying little brother to have a heart attack at my foreseen political allegiances based only on my dinner choices. He already lectures me enough on politics as it is." She paused, turning her eyes to the door as another large crowd of students filed in. "Speaking of which, have you thought any more on that Senate internship for this summer?"_

_Martin exhaled audibly and ran his hand over his chin. "He keeps trying to talk me into it, but I'm not sure..."_

_"What aren't you sure about, Marty?" Bonnie reached across the table, running her hand soothingly along the side of his wrist._

_"Well, I had already planned to go backpacking in Europe this summer with Mike and Charlie," he said, his jaw clicking as he ground his teeth together in silent frustration. "I know Mom and Dad think it would be a great way to make connections and start my career off 'on the right foot,' but I really don't see myself in politics. Especially not long term." Bonnie looked up at him encouragingly, and taking a deep breath, he finally decided to verbalize what he had been thinking for several months now. "I've been thinking that I might like to work for the FBI one day... Not the way dad does, the political schmoozing and paper pushing, but really get a chance to help people and change their lives. Not just sit in Washington and make pointless policies that don't actually get anything done."_

_Bonnie took a bite from her burger, chewing quietly for a moment, then smiled. "It sounds like you've given this a lot of thought."_

_"I have," he nodded._

_"Then that's what you want, that's what I think you should do. Don't let your father try to talk you out of it. It's your life, and the most important thing is that you're happy. The other stuff is just secondary." She took hold of his hand once again, squeezing it affectionately and beaming at him. "And no matter what, Marty, I will always be proud of you."_

xxx

When he finished talking his story, both he and Jamie had tears running freely down their faces. The remaining dishes long forgotten, they sat down at the kitchen table with a box of Kleenex situated between them.

"That's Mom for you," Jamie said, her voice shaky and uneven between her tears. She sniffled and coughed, trying to clear her throat although failing miserably. And when she closed her eyes and leaned her head back tensely, Martin reached over to rub her shoulder soothingly. "I'm so sorry, Marty," Jamie cried harder. "I'm so sorry."

Martin dried his own tears on his shirt sleeve and attempted to swallow the mucous lodged at the base of his throat. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Jamie."

"Yes, I do." She turned her head to study a spot by the kitchen window intently, her shoulders sagging forward and her voice tinged with guilt. Breathing in heavily, she said, "I promised Mom I would look out for you. She was really worried about you, thought you internalized too much." Jamie paused, silent tears still streaming down her face, as she struggled not to choke on her own words. "After you were shot, I should have been there for you... I should have watched out for you the way Mom would have."

Martin closed his eyes and pursed his lips together. "Jamie," he began softly. "You can't possibly blame yourself for everything that happened to me last year. I made my own decisions, and I probably wouldn't have accepted your help anyway at that point."

"I guess I should just be grateful that you were finally able to listen to Samantha, then," Jamie said, wiping tears away from her eyes. "How is she doing, by the way? You haven't said much about her lately."

"She's fine," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "She was actually took some time off a couple of weeks ago because she donated bone marrow." He stopped abruptly, not feeling up to explaining about Sam's sister and the nephew she never knew she had.

"And there's no hope of you two sorting out your differences and trying again anytime soon?" She teased, still wiping tears from her eyes and not hiding how much she had liked Sam on the two occasions they had met.

"We're friends now, and it's taken us long enough to get back to that point," he said, shaking his head a little too forcefully. "Besides, I just started seeing someone else." Jamie arched an eyebrow suspiciously, and he sighed. "Her name is Christine, and we met a couple of months ago when I was rock climbing. We've only been out a couple of times, but we're going to see where things go." He folded his hands in his lap nervously as he finished, trying to read the expression on her face.

"Well, that's good then," she said finally. "If you and Samantha are really over, then I guess it's good that you are finally moving on."

Martin looked away deliberately and worked his tongue in his cheek, afraid he would see something in her eyes that he was not ready to see. Or worse, that she would see the uncertainty painted in his.

xxx


	16. Fifteen

xxx

_**chapter fifteen**_

xxx

_if i had the chance, love  
i would not hesitate  
to tell you all the things i never said before  
don't tell me it's too late_

_'cause i've relied on my illusions  
to keep me warm at night  
but i've denied in my capacity to love  
and i am willing, to give up this fight_  
-Sarah McLachlan, "Dirty Little Secret"

xxx

Sam tucked her legs underneath her and hugged her arms close to her chest as she sat on the sofa at Emily and Andrew's. On the opposing end, Emily leaned back against the cushions, shutting her eyes as she sipped slowly from her mug of hot chocolate. The two sisters were alone that Saturday night: Andrew was away for the weekend on business, and Emily had invited her over to spend the evening together.

It was late now, long after the sun had set, and as they sat together on the sofa, alone in an otherwise empty house, it brought back memories of many cold winter evenings in Kenosha spent exactly this way. If their mother were not at work, she would likely be out on a date, leaving her young teenage daughters to their own devices. When they were younger, they had been practically inseparable, and even as they got older and Emily went off to high school, they remained the best of friends in spite of the growing differences between them.

Unlike Sam, Emily could remember far more about their father and, consequently, felt less confused and hurt about his abandonment, confident that they were far better off without the man who did nothing but shout with their mother and drink. When she started high school, she started spending less time at home with Sam on lonely Saturday nights and more time out with her boyfriends. But Sam had been far too young and sensitive and, barely able to remember him, internalized her bewilderment and locked her feelings of rejection deep in the recesses of her young heart.

She carried her tendency to internalize her feelings into every aspect of her life, growing up the quiet, thoughtful, artistic child, just in the shadows of her dynamic, popular older sister. But Emily would remain her best friend, her confidant, and her hero: the two little girls trying desperately to hang on to their childhoods as the world forced them to grow up too soon.

In fact, Sam remained in her reserved, quiet shell until the night she killed Joe Henry. But that night, something inside of her snapped, and the last vestiges of her childhood were violently and irrevocably torn from her. When Emily ran away, it was the ultimate desertion, and she discovered parties, alcohol, and boys to fill the empty void in her life.

Emily returned a year later, and they were complete strangers.

Sam heaved a long sigh and ran a hand through her hair as she glanced around the living room.

"What is it, Sam?" Emily shifted her weight to lean forward, concern etched across her forehead. "You've been distracted all night."

"It's nothing, really," she replied half-heartedly with a wave of her hand. "Just work stress."

"It's more than that," Emily insisted, carefully placing her mug atop the coaster on the coffee table. "You're feeling alright, aren't you? You said the doctors cleared you two weeks ago... Did something else come up?"

"No, no," Sam replied hurriedly at the look of alarm on her sister's face. "I'm fine, really. All of my blood work checked out."

"Good," Emily nodded. "What, then? You said you haven't been seeing anyone in awhile ..." Sam lowered her eyes to inspect a crease in her pant leg while Emily paused thoughtfully, taking Sam's silence as an affirmative response. "Is it Jack? He seemed to look at you like there was ... something there. Or that guy from the card you kept in that box in your closet?"

Sam rubbed her eyes and exhaled deeply before folding her hands nervously on her lap. "Actually, both."

"Both?" Emily gave her a pointed look, moving so that she now sat on the middle cushion, narrowing the gap between them.

"Well, Martin really," she said, picking up her own mug and sipping from the lukewarm hot chocolate simply to occupy her hands. "But Jack, too. Just ... differently." Emily began to rub her thigh soothingly, and she looked away as she continued, "Years ago, before Martin even joined the team and I was barely a rookie, Jack and I had an affair. I know it sounds sordid and seedy, but at the time, it meant everything to me. I really thought I loved him, and I don't think I ever really allowed myself to get over him..." Sam shut her eyes tightly as she swallowed, and Emily did not stop the soothing motions against her thigh. "And then Martin came along and we became friends, good friends. And I knew he liked me..."

"So you became more," Emily finished for her.

"Yeah," she nodded with a short breath, and changed the tenor of the conversation. "We were together for nine months, and it was like a lifetime."

Emily smiled knowingly and patted her thigh. "You were only married to Joe for five months."

"I know," she shifted her weight to bring her knees up against her chest, hugging them tightly against herself as she rotated her neck in slow circles before allowing herself to meet Emily's gaze. "And now that I've figured out what I want, I don't know how to fix this giant mess that I created."

"What kind of mess?"

Biting her lip, Sam sank back against the plush cushions of the sofa. "Jack was a huge issue between Martin and I, in large part because I subconsciously made it so. No matter what I do, I don't know how to disentangle myself from Jack without cutting myself off from Martin, too. He figures too prominently in our shared past."

xxx

_Sam tried to pull her coat closer around her frame as she quickly exited the cab and ran the ten steps to Martin's building on the Upper West Side. She gave the doorman a tight smile and nod of her head before walking quickly and purposefully toward the elevators._

_The elevator doors slid open in front of her, and she quickly stepped in and to the right, turning to press the '8' button until the small bulb inside began to glow. Satisfied, she leaned back against the side of the elevator as it jerked into motion, mulling over the day's events in her head: from the moment she sat on the front steps of her apartment reading the newspaper with Martin that morning, to the second she realized he had left without her that night._

_She knew he wanted to start venturing out more often, but this morning was the first time he had gotten so angry about it._

_The ding of the elevator announced her arrival on Martin's floor, and she slowly shuffled down the hallway to apartment 814, shutting her eyes briefly before wrapping softly against the wooden doorframe._

_After a few beats, the door hinges creaked as the door swung open. Martin stood in front of her, his dress shirt half unbuttoned and his feet in socks but not shoes. A quick scan of the room revealed an open beer bottle on the coffee table and Stuart Scott analyzing the critical plays from the Knicks game in the background on SportsCenter._

_He rubbed his chin, not hiding the look of mixed stress, surprise, and disdain that crossed his face, and shook his head slightly as he motioned for her to come inside._

_"You didn't wait for me," she said, shutting the door firmly behind her for emphasis._

_"What, so we could walk out together hand in hand and play happy couples in front of everyone else from the office?" He said bitterly, retreating to the sofa and taking a long swig from his beer. Sitting down against the cushions, he reached for the remote and flicked the television off, leaving them completely alone._

_"Listen, I'm sorry, okay?" She snapped. "I'm not ready yet. I just need more time, I don't see why you can't just let it be."_

_"Can you give me a time frame?" His eyes narrowed as he spat back. "A target date? Give or take a calendar year... Or were you waiting until Jack found out? Because I have a little secret for you: Jack knows. I guess we're not as careful as we thought we were."_

_Her heart lurched forward. "What does that mean?"_

_"Nothing." He said shortly. "It means nothing, Sam."_

_Unsure of how to respond, she bit her lip and remained silent. And the gap between them grew as long and wide and deep as the Atlantic Ocean._

xxx

"... that was the beginning of the end, really," she finished. "We fought more and talked less, and even when we did talk, it almost always led us back to something we would fight over. By the time I realized what was happening, it was already too late to fix it."

Emily reached out for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly as she said, "Wow, that sounds complicated."

"Complicated would certainly be one word for it," she replied in self-resentful tone. "And that's when you put aside everything that's happened since then. Now I just want to un-complicate things, but I'm afraid too much time has passed."

"There's no such thing as 'too much time' when you really care about someone," Emily exhaled carefully, swinging their clasped hands between them. "After all, look at us."

"That's different," Sam replied breathlessly, voice tinged with unspoken hurt. "With us, everything was always two-sided. But with Martin, I share sole responsibility for those honors. He would be absolutely crazy to take me back after everything that's happened."

"Maybe you should let him decide," Emily dropped her hands but still smiled encouragingly. "He must be doing something for you to come to these conclusions all of a sudden."

Sam shook her head quickly. "That's just it: he hasn't been doing anything different. He's just him, and lately I've been noticing the little things, how well he knows me and how supportive he's been in spite of our history." She paused for a beat to massage her neck lightly. "It's funny how it's the simple things that Martin just knows, when Jack never stuck around long enough to find out."

The air between them felt warm, heavy, and thick, and the silence that hung in the air spoke truths that Sam thought might swallow her whole. With the palms of her hands, she wiped ineffectively at her eyes at the tears that were beginning to form there, and waited expectantly for Emily to say something, anything, to break the silence.

"It seems to me, Sam," Emily said slowly, bracing her arms across her chest, "as though you loved Jack because you had to." She paused for a beat, just long enough to ensure that Sam was still listening intently. "You love Martin because you _want_ to; you did then, too. But the thing is, back then, you didn't _want_ to -- but you did anyway."

Sam inhaled so deeply that she felt lightheaded as the oxygen rushed to her brain, her eyes shut tightly, tears brimming just around the edges of her eyelids but not yet falling. She felt an empty space beneath her rib cage where her heart should be and, if not for the rapid thumping of her heartbeat, would have sworn that her heart had been torn from her chest. "I do love him," she said finally, her voice breaking. "But it's time for me to be fair to him, the way I wasn't fair to him when we were together." She wrapped the palm of her hand around her mug once more, bringing the now-cold liquid to her lips in a desperate attempt to clear her throat. "I have to let him be happy without me."

"And what do you want?"

"I want him to be happy even if it's not with me," she replied, her heart heavy with regret. She paused for a moment to run her hand over her face and, gathering up all of the courage she had left, said, "And more than anything, I want this thing I had with Jack to stop controlling my life. I want to end it, once and for all."

"Then you've taken the biggest step on your own," Emily replied, wrapping her arms around Sam's shoulders. "Before you can let someone else love you, Sam, you have to respect yourself first."

Sam felt the tears spill uncontrollably from the depths of her wide brown eyes as the floodgates opened, and she did something she had not done in over fifteen years. She climbed onto her older sister's lap, and allowed Emily to hold her while she cried.

xxx


	17. Sixteen

xxx

_**chapter sixteen**_

xxx

_and if i told you  
that i'm sorry  
would you tell me that you were wrong  
or would you hold me down forever  
if i came to you for answers_  
-Matt Nathanson, "I Saw"

xxx

The door of the Starbucks flew open, and Martin edged his way inside, dodging the crowds left and right as he made his way through the packed coffee shop to the booth where Ed sat waiting. "Sorry I'm late," he smiled apologetically as he sat down on the booth, the vinyl lining giving way beneath him.

"That's alright," Ed replied with a quick nod. He motioned to the crowd standing in line and then back to the two oversized mugs that sat on the table between them. "I hope you don't mind, I went ahead and got your usual."

Martin shook his head and eagerly lifted the mug to his lips. "No, of course not. Thanks." He washed the warm liquid down his throat, swallowing gratefully. "How's your daughter doing? She's due any day now, isn't she?"

"Just a week to go," Ed smiled broadly, as he did whenever he talked about the birth of his daughter's first child. "I think she can't wait for it to all be over." Ed took a long drink of his own coffee and paused thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing. "You look exhausted," he said, his tone of voice indicating that he was not up for an argument. "You were really looking good for awhile. What's up?"

Martin cocked his head to one side, taken aback by Ed's sudden change of subject. "What do you mean?"

"You look ..." Ed began, eyebrows furrowed as he gestured with the hand not holding his coffee mug, "tired, stressed, unhappy? I don't know; you tell me."

"I'm fine," Martin sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Work keeps me busy. I guess I'm just tired; it's already been a long week."

Ed focused his gaze across the table in an intense stare reminiscent of his days with the NYPD and said, "I don't think that's what you really mean. Long week or not, you seemed like you were really doing well when I talked to you on Wednesday. That was only six days ago, Martin." Setting his mug down on the table, he continued, "Does this have anything to do with the dinner at your cousins' a week ago?"

"Actually, no," Martin shut his eyes briefly and inhaled, recalling the long talk he had with Jamie that night and how cathartic it felt to finally share all of the happy memories with his family. "It was good to just be with them on her birthday, to talk about her. I think it helped that I was with them; I guess I felt less ..." he trailed off slowly and his voice began to break.

"It's okay to still have cravings, Martin," Ed smiled reassuringly. "It's normal. Just because you've passed the one year mark doesn't mean that all of this suddenly goes away."

"I know that," Martin replied as he ran his hand along his chin. "But I guess it's different to know it, and to _know_ it."

"I know I don't have to tell you this, but you have a bigger support network than you think. You have plenty of people you can call if you ever need to talk about it." Ed methodically counted off on his fingers, as though it would somehow symbolically further his point. "And now that you _are_ at the one year mark, you should be proud of how far you've come. It's like a marriage, really. The first five years are the hardest, and you're one fifth of the way there."

"That's supposed to be encouraging?" Martin cocked his head to the side and laughed in spite of himself.

"I guess it's one of those metaphors that sounds a lot better to women," Ed replied, laughing. "Speaking of your one year mark, how are you doing with Steps 8 and 9?" Martin raised his eyebrows questioningly, and off of his look, Ed explained. "If I recall correctly, you have two very close friends who are directly responsible for you realizing that you had a problem and then seeking the help that you needed."

"Danny and Samantha," Martin breathed in response and leaned his elbows against the side of the table.

"Right," Ed gave a quick nod of his head and wiped his hands on a paper napkin. "Have you shared anything about your recovery with them recently? It's something that would be good for you, if you feel comfortable with it."

Martin took a deep breath and worked his jaw back and forth, then slowly replied, "Actually, I've talked to both of them about it recently." He paused for a beat. "Sam asked me about it just yesterday..."

xxx

_Martin turned at his desk as he began to gather up his things. It had been a particularly rough Monday, in which they had all received early morning calls and spent all day scouring the city for a five year old child who had been killed before he was even reported missing. His posture stiff and his mood somber, he was considering calling Christine up and asking her to reschedule for another night; he was simply not feeling up to drinks at the upscale Soho bar near her place._

_The office was only dimly lit, all nine to five employees having long-since vacated the premises and only the few stragglers remaining at their desks, and he heard the steady echo of a woman's heels approaching from behind him._

_"Martin?" Samantha's voice was soft and gentle and sounded ... almost vulnerable and very unlike herself. "I didn't know you were still here." She said, in a near whisper._

_"Yeah," He sighed and turned his body, slumping back against the side of his desk in defeat. "Can't quite leave, but can't quite stay either."_

_"Tell me about it," she rolled her eyes, and he noticed that her long coat was folded and draped over one arm. She smiled at him with trepidation, her voice catching as she spoke. "Do you want to go somewhere and grab a cup of coffee or a drink or something?"_

_"Out somewhere?" he replied in reflex. Too quickly, perhaps, and he immediately wish he hadn't. He thought he might have seen a flicker of hurt flash in her deep brown eyes._

_Instead, she bit her lip thoughtfully for a moment and replied in self-deprecating tone, "I guess I deserve that."_

_"I'm sorry," he apologized and reached out to softly grab hold of her elbow. "I didn't mean it like that; you just took me by surprise."_

_"It's okay. No harm done, see?" She held out her palms and winked, seeming suddenly more relaxed. "It's just that I know I missed your one year mark, and if two weeks late is still somewhat in range, I had thought that maybe I could make it up to you."_

_He gazed down at her, his blue eyes clear and wide. "Tonight is probably not a good night," he said slowly. "Maybe some other time, though."_

_"Of course, some other time," she replied with only a slight hint of disappointment. "And Martin--?" she added softly. "Call me if you change your mind."_

_His eyes followed the swift click of her heels as it echoed down the corridor until she had long disappeared into the elevators, and he shifted his weight to reach for his cell phone._

_Now he was not certain if he felt more or less guilty about rescheduling on Christine than he had been five minutes earlier._

xxx

As Martin finished his story, Ed looked back at him expectantly and said, "So have you? Rescheduled, I mean."

"Yeah. Christine said Tuesday night worked better for her anyway, so we just went out the next night instead." Martin lowered his own eyes to avoid the pointed look he was getting from the older man, and continued, "No, we haven't. I'm not exactly sure what we would say anyway, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the gesture."

"It doesn't matter what you say, just that you are talking and somehow making peace with everything that happened between you years ago." Ed coughed, the cough of a man who smoked for over thirty years, and shifted his hand so that it was resting on the handle of his mug. "It sounds like you both have some common demons that you need to exorcise."

"That's the risk you take when you date a coworker, I guess," Martin replied, taking a sip of his coffee only to discover that it had long-since grown cold. The murky liquid made him grimace in distaste.

"I'm sensing some bitterness," Ed crossed his arms and leaned back against the vinyl cushioning of the booth.

"No bitterness, but I do wish I had fully known the risks before I got involved with a coworker. I don't think I've ever dreaded coming into work more in my life than the weeks immediately after Sam and I ended things," he finished diplomatically, and his mug scraped against the table as he pushed it out of reach.

"Office romances aren't all bad," Ed countered. "My daughter met her husband when they were both working out of ComTech."

"Absolutely," he agreed quickly. "Danny and Elena have been together for a few months now, and they have their differences and their arguments but they really do care about each other and they work through it. I know everyone in the office is really happy for both of them."

Martin, feeling suddenly tense and stiff, threw his shoulders back and stretched out his arms. He sat silently and allowed the gentle chaos from around the coffee shop to surround him as he considered the relationship between Danny and Elena. In the two years since she had joined the team, he had yet to find out exactly what their longer history together included. He had never asked, afraid the subject was too taboo even now, and they had never offered. Whatever their shared history, though, he suspected it was linked to their respective pasts with Carlos; once Elena knew that Sofie would be safe, she and Danny seemed to grow closer still.

Though when he initially found out about their relationship, his own past with interoffice romance caused him to view it with trepidation. He feared the team, already fractured by individual turmoil, might not be able to survive intact if there was a bitter breakup added to the mix.

Danny and Elena, however, had done everything to prove him wrong, and he found that he enjoyed watching as his two friends grew and changed together. Danny even hinted that Elena was becoming receptive to the idea of them moving in together and that, although it seemed fast, it was something he wanted to do. He wanted Sofie to know that he was committed to her as well as to her mother and to offer her some stability in the wake of Carlos' crazed kidnapping scheme. The young girl had been extremely traumatized by seeing her father hold her mother at gunpoint.

Martin broke his train of thought as he heard Ed call his name, and nodded his head signaling his attention. "What is your biggest regret about your relationship with Samantha, then?" Ed asked finally.

Martin pursed his lips together and thought for a moment. "I thought NA taught us not to have regrets," he quipped.

"If we were perfect," Ed winked and replied without skipping a beat. "We wouldn't need NA in the first place."

"Touché," Martin laughed. He drew in a deep breath and immediately became more serious as he chose his words carefully. "If you had asked me a month ago, I would have said it's the fact that in the end, she was my best friend and now we can't ever get that back the way it used to be."

"And now?"

"I don't know," he answered. "These past few weeks since she's come back to work, we haven't had any serious conversations but things have been better between us. It's as if we're slowly becoming friends again, and maybe that's the best thing I could hope for." He paused to swallow slowly, and he wrung his hands together underneath the table. "But no matter how much I want to wish I had never followed her into the cab that night, I know I will never regret that we tried."

Ed nodded, mulling this over silently for a few minutes, his lack of reply playing against Martin's own nerves. Finally, Ed narrowed his gaze intently and said, "That's very wise of you, Martin; it's a good perspective to have." Fingers tapping against the tabletop in steady rhythm, Ed continued. "I have one more question about this, and then I promise we can stop talking about it." He waited while Martin gave a nod in assent. "If you could go back to that night when she asked you home with her for the first time, knowing what you do now about the potential fallout of an interoffice relationship gone awry, would you have agreed so easily?"

"In a heartbeat," he replied before he even know what he was saying. He blinked before raising his eyes to look directly at his sponsor before him, and with all the honesty he could muster, explained. "Because no matter what I knew about what might happen if things went wrong, I would never have believed that we would break up."

xxx

_End Part I..._

Part II to follow soon. Zip file of the soundtrack music is available upon request, just drop me an email (should be in my profile).


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